Be Silent and Breathe
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Best friends with Spencer since kindergarten, Freya Cecil was the sixth member of the Liars group, the only one who hated lies: her family broken, Freya and Jason have a lot in common.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**: Jason DiLaurentis has to have the most perfect body in the entire world, so I'm dedicating a story to it! Best-friends with Spencer since kindergarten, a sixth girl has a lot to offer the Liars when they regroup at Alison's funeral. Freya's appearance is inspired by Natalia Vodianova, because she's gorgeous.

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><p><strong>Be Silent and Breathe…<strong>

_Or_ **Jar of Hearts**

_01_

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><p>The lights flickered, and went out: the loud pop music the girls insisted on playing cut out completely, and lingering laughter fell on the humid air as lightning struck outside.<p>

"Dude, this is totally the beginning of a slasher horror-flick," Aria whispered.

"Thanks for putting _that_ inour heads!" Freya laughed softly.

"I'm just saying!"

"Well, you know what they say, the pretty ones always go first," Freya laughed. "Who draws the short straw?"

"How would they pick?" Hanna asked, sweet as ever, and Freya laughed. Thunder rumbled as Spencer and Emily laughed.

"It's probably just the storm," Spencer said, and her smile appeared as she clicked on a flashlight, dragging a lighter out of the pocket of her skinny-jeans to start attacking the hundreds of candles littered around the old barn. A moaning, woody sound echoed from the front of the barn, and Freya glanced over her shoulder, sprawled on a folding lawn chair with one knee cocked, her foot tucked beneath her, and one leg sprawled out, so she could press the Play/Pause button on the old stereo to skip songs on Hanna's iPod. A glass of margarita in one hand, she sipped her drink and gazed at the barn door. It suddenly opened, and Freya lurched out of her chair, setting her drink down.

"_Guys_!" Hanna whispered. As the croaking of the door continued, the girls clustered; Spencer, her flashlight aloft, grabbed a hockey-stick and pushed it into Freya's hands, her eyebrows raised over wide eyes. She nodded at the door.

"Guess that makes _me_ the pretty one," Freya whispered, shaking her head, even as she rolled her eyes in amusement. Eyeing the door, she steeled her nerves; this had Ali written all over it. Aria grabbed the flashlight from Spencer, huddled next to Freya, and the girls clustered around her as she wielded the hockey-stick like a weapon, inching toward the door. _Probably a fallen tree-branch_, she told herself. _Or maybe it's just Jason trying to scare us_.

Something smashed, and the girls screamed. Spencer pushed a hand into the small of Freya's back, nodding her encouragement to go on.

"I swear to god, you guys, if I'm killed and maimed, I'm going to haunt you!" Freya whispered teasingly, to conceal the shiver stealing over her. Truth was, she loved this weather. And _she_ was the one who usually frightened the life out of people. She crept to the barn door, which illuminated with a sudden clap of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder—another flash, and long bleach-blonde hair whirled into view, a face grinning, "Gotcha!"

The girls all screamed; jumping out of her skin, Freya just resisted the urge to swing the hockey-stick at Alison, realising who it was. The girls all fell about, clutching their hearts and controlling their fright.

"That is so _not funny_, Alison!" Spencer exclaimed, her hands shaking.

"I thought it was hilarious," Ali sauntered into the barn; Freya hung back to close the barn door, in case the storm picked up tempo, and leaned the hockey-stick against the wall.

"Really hilarious," Aria laughed, "'till Spencer or Freya comes at you with a hockey-stick."

"Beaten to death?" Ali chuckled. "Now that would _not_ leave a gorgeous corpse."

"You are so macabre," Freya laughed, shaking her head.

"Ali, did you download the new Beyonce?" Hanna asked, smiling.

"Not yet!" Ali beamed.

"I'm loving her new video!" Emily smiled.

"Maybe a little too much, Em," Alison replied smoothly, but with a poisonous sweetness Freya noticed; just like she noticed the way Emily's sweet smile faltered until Alison looked away, handing Aria the margarita-glass Freya had set down. "Your turn!"

"Careful, Aria," Spencer smiled, munching on popcorn. "Drink too much, and you'll tell us all your secrets."

"Yeah, especially since _Freya_ mixed that," Hanna laughed.

"Hey, either I drink it, or my mother will," Freya shrugged. "I'm saving her kidney."

"And I'm sure she's grateful," Spencer said solemnly; Freya smiled.

"Friends share secrets," Alison spoke up, glancing from girl to girl. "That's what keeps us close." She gave each of them a smile, that patented Alison smile, the one that made every girl feel like they alone were her best-friend, they alone knew her secrets…when in fact, none of them knew any of hers.

"I don't know about that," Freya said thoughtfully. "Secrets only bring us closer if we all know about them."

"Then they wouldn't be secrets," Ali said.

"No. But having secrets keeps us divided amongst ourselves," Freya replied quietly. Divided, she realised, and dependent on Alison to keep their secrets. Freya had none; she wasn't reliant on anybody, couldn't be. She had to take responsibility; tonight was a rarity, one night of teenaged bliss before school started, and everything would change. She wouldn't be home every day, able to spend time with her dad; she wouldn't be able to make sure Otto was fed and changed; that Helen didn't go through all the cookies in the pantry; that Kenzi wasn't being bullied on the playground; that Dorcas got out into the sunshine once in a while instead of holing up with her books. That her mother ate something, and that, if necessary, she could pass off the numerous bottles littering the house onto Jason.

Somehow, Alison mentioning in front of Jason that Freya liked getting stoned had turned into getting high and having sex with Jason. Ali's older brother.

She glanced at the barn-door; beyond it, across Spencer's yard, was Alison's bedroom-window; beside her room was Jason's… She wondered if he was there tonight, getting stoned with the boys. If not…maybe she could sneak over when the girls fell asleep. _Lightweights_, she smiled; she loved these girls.

"The problem with you, Freya, is that you are a martyr to your conscience," Alison smirked.

"The problem with _you_ is that you don't have one!" Freya laughed back, and Ali smirked, winking subtly.

"So Freya, are you sneaking out tonight to see Jason?" Spencer asked, giving her a saucy look.

"Well, it wouldn't be _sneaking_ if you guys know I'm doing it," Freya pointed out, laughing; the girls giggled.

"Sneaking out to hook up with my big brother," Ali grimaced, tossing a handful of popcorn at Freya. "New topic!" The girls laughed, and conversation denigrated into music, makeup, clothes, their hopes for the new school-year: Hanna wanted to continue getting skinny; Aria was considering having her nose pierced and wanted to test into the AP English class; they had to coerce Emily into admitting she wanted the captain spot for the JV swim-team; Spencer was going to take over the world, of course. As for Ali and Freya? Ali remained silent, smiling that knowing smile she had: Freya didn't want to look into the future. She knew how life would be for her once her father succumbed into the peaceful bliss of death.

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><p><em><strong>One Year Later<strong>_

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><p>The <em>Rosewood Observer<em> had printed Ali's face on the front-page, under the banner 'Still Missing'. But those who had known Ali didn't need the reminder: Emily glanced around as she entered the hall beside Aria, now de-pinked but still little and dark. It was so strange to see Aria back in this place that had been without her for a year; stranger still, it had been a year since Alison had gone missing, and everything was the same. Other kids were laughing and chatting, filling the halls with noise as lockers clanged, and nobody seemed to remember Ali had ever stepped foot in these corridors. Life went on every day, as if nothing had happened; if they hadn't seen the posters, people wouldn't even have remembered Ali.

As Aria sat down in the desk beside Emily's, she couldn't help thinking… Well, they used to sit in two rows of three across: her and Emily either side of Ali, with Spencer and Hanna either side of Freya. Two polar-opposites neutralised by each other. She was now sitting where Ali should have been sat: none of the other girls but Emily had arrived in the classroom; maybe they weren't in the AP English class.

"So I hear the new teacher's really hot," Emily smiled, tucking her gym bag under her legs.

"_How_ hot?" Aria grinned. "Lifeguard-at-the-town-pool hot?"

"No-one's _that_ hot," Emily laughed, and Aria chuckled as she slung her bag over the back of her chair, and stared as _Hanna_ sauntered into the room. She was dressed in a skimpy little purple top, an expensive handbag draped over her elbow, and her hair was styled in curls. She looked _beautiful_, and such a change in attitude and bearing from the Hanna Aria had said goodbye to a year ago.

"Is that _Hanna_?" Aria turned to Emily, gaping. Emily smiled.

"She's the 'it' girl now," she confirmed, nodding. Mona's heels clattered as she hurried into the room, and Hanna smiled as her friend reached her, giving each other air-kisses in greeting; Sean had given her a ride to school this morning, instead of her usual pickup Mona.

"Gorgeous hair today, Han!" Mona beamed, adjusting her own side ponytail after setting her skinny latte on the desk, grabbing a tube of lip-gloss from her designer handbag.

"New lip-gloss?" Hanna asked, glancing at the tube of gorgeously-pink gloss.

"And necklace," Mona added, smirking; Hanna laughed. They'd spent all summer _acquiring_ new things from the mall. "Is that Aria?"

"Where there's Hanna, there's Mona," Emily said in an undertone, as Aria stared at the two girls at the front of the classroom.

"_That's_ Mona?"

"Can you believe it?" Emily replied.

"_Wow_!" Aria breathed, eyes wide. "Talk about a makeover." Glancing around the classroom, Aria caught Hanna's eye and smiled, waving; Hanna gave her a sort of half-wave, half-dismissive smile, while Mona gave her a peculiar look. Remembering the way she used to treat Mona—mostly through Ali's encouragement—Aria gave her a smile, but was thrown by Hanna's reaction to seeing her. She glanced at Emily.

"What's up with her?" she asked. "Are you two fighting?"

"We didn't just fall out of touch with you, Aria," Emily said sadly. "We _all _fell out of touch with each other." Aria stared at Emily for a moment, then glanced away. The girls had all stopped talking? She knew that…well, Ali had pretty much brought them together. But she'd thought…she'd thought the girls were good enough friends that they'd stuck together through Ali's disappearance. They needed each other. She had had her parents, and living in Iceland had given her this amazing sort of freedom, in some ways. But she missed the girls. She missed Ali.

Spencer sighed as she entered the classroom, giving Hanna a small smile; the top she had picked out for Spencer to wear to tonight's dinner with Melissa and her new fiancé was gorgeous, and without Hanna's intervention Spencer would have been wearing a plain white blouse. Totally Melissa-approved, totally _boring_, and once again making sure Melissa was at the centre of everyone's attention. As she had been all Spencer's life. She sighed again, adjusting the strap of her messenger-bag before lifting it carefully over her head; Freya had had to cancel their plans last night because of a babysitter who'd bailed. They'd had a good night, though, holed up in Freya's room with the baby, and her little sisters, watching _Glee_ and _Disney_ movies, painting each other's nails and trying out new hairstyles on the little girls, making odd and oddly-delicious milkshake combinations when Spencer paused for a break working on her Hollis summer assignments. It had actually turned out a better night than Spencer and Freya had planned, perhaps because they both admitted they had been utterly exhausted, and hanging out in Freya's room was exactly what they'd needed.

But then Freya had had to cancel an early run because the baby had been waking her up on the hour all night, and she hadn't had any sleep. Spencer didn't know much about babies, but she was pretty sure it was the _mom_ who was supposed to get up every hour to feed and burp the baby, not the big-sister. Given what she'd seen Freya's mother devolve into over the last year, she couldn't find it surprising that Freya had taken over the responsibilities of looking after her little siblings, but Spencer was worried about what that meant for Freya. She'd sent Spencer a text asking her to mention to the teacher that she would be tardy because she was stuck at the O.C.-middle parking-lot dropping off Mackenzie, and still had to drop off Kelly and Helen at elementary-school, and Abel at day-care before she could get to school. Sitting down, Spencer pulled out her laptop, starting up a new Word document to take notes.

Aria had noticed Spencer smile at Hanna as she crossed the room, but neither stopped to chat with each other, and Spencer's smile turned sad as she made her way to an empty desk.

"They're not so close anymore either," Emily said, guessing where Aria's thoughts were.

"So they're friendly, but not friends," Aria nodded understandingly. As the bell rang, they brought out their binders, and Aria frowned as she glanced around. As the teacher began scribbling on the SmartBoard, Aria glanced at Emily. "Where's Freya?"

"She'll be around," Emily said, shrugging slightly. Aria glanced around once more. "She kind of…does her own thing."

"Didn't she always?" Aria chuckled. Freya had always been the one to put Queen Bee Alison in her place whenever she crossed the line: she had never been afraid of being herself, and never made apologies for being who she was, and liking what she did; she had never backed down from Alison when she tried ripping into Freya for hanging out with Jason. If Aria, Spencer, Hanna and Emily were all one-of-a-kind, as Alison had once said, Freya was…something else entirely.

She had never been one thing or the other: like Emily was a jock, Spencer a scholarly perfectionist. The only thing Freya had had in common with the girls was that she loved to spend time with them: she had listened to old-school punk and vintage rock; read complex novels Aria's dad had been surprised a mid-teenager could get through; she used to ride around on the motorcycle her elder-brother had started to build for her; and could drink a bottle of vodka without passing out, and had taught Jason DiLaurentis, the ultimate college party-boy, how to roll the perfect joint. Yet she was a consummate ballerina, hours-long daily training that left her back aching if she didn't wear heels, to compensate for the strain _Pointe_ training put on her feet, always wearing her hair up in incredibly pretty hairstyles. She had spent a _lot_ of time with Ali's older-brother, getting stoned, and having sex, and looking and acting more adult than any of the girls could have hoped to be back then. Events outside of her control had shaped who Freya had become by the time she turned sixteen, and Aria was sure the loss of her dad would have had a huge effect on her too.

"Hey, um…what happened, with her dad?" Aria asked Emily: Freya's dad was a delicate subject, one they had never really talked about yet all knew the intimate details. Once Rosewood's mayor, Senator for Pennsylvania, and the descendent of the founding father of Rosewood and one of the first families of the original colony, everyone had known when Richard Cecil had been diagnosed: Aria could remember both of her parents absolutely wrecked with tears; even Spencer's mom had been utterly disconsolate, and it was Peter Hastings' reaction to the news that really took it home to Aria how much people loved Richard Cecil. The Hastings family were notorious for the glossy polish they put over every aspect of their lives, Mr Hastings most of all, and it was a mark of the amazing guy Freya's dad was that people had lost themselves in their grief over his illness. Emily's expression turned sorrowful, and she glanced at the door one more time before looking at Aria.

"He died, Aria…just a few months after your family left for Iceland," she said softly.

"_What_? Oh my god," Aria breathed, closing her eyes. Freya _adored_ her dad: and he was the epitome of what an über-dad was: he was also probably the first crush each of the girls had ever had, so handsome and funny, always making them laugh; teasing them; helping them when they were overwhelmed; healing breaches between the girls: he'd always been there to take them to the mall if they needed a ride; always gave them money for popcorn at the movies. And he had adored Freya.

Aria always got the impression Freya's dad was her best-friend.

He had been sick long before freshman-year, when they'd all noticed the beginnings of change in Freya; when she'd started hanging out with Jason DiLaurentis, best-friend of her elder-brother Conrad, the coolest big-brother in the history of older-brothers, and a lot of girls' first crush.

Now Freya's dad was _gone_?

It seemed as outlandish a thought as _Ali_ being gone. Strange: not a part of her own brain; someone else's life, someone else's ears hearing those words and someone else's mind struggling to process those thoughts. Freya's dad, the epitome of everything that was fun, laughter, strength and friendship, was _gone_?

"He's _gone_?" Aria gaped. Then she remembered that her parents had been incredibly distraught, about eight months ago. Had they known and just not told her? Why?

"It was…kind of the last thing that…we did together," Emily said sadly. "We were all there for the funeral. She was…destroyed. But after that…Freya had to start taking care of her little brothers. She and Spencer are still really close, and I think she hangs out with Hanna sometimes, too…when she can. Freya and Spencer are the only ones who really…stuck together."

"They were friends without Alison," Aria remembered; she remembered being in second-grade at Rosewood Elementary School, watching Spencer and Freya, two girls so intrinsically different, giggling and sharing Fruit Gushers and Lip Smackers and those cool puff scratch-and-sniff stickers and playing hopscotch with their cool glittery jelly-sandals: Aria had always envied them those sandals, and Freya's gorgeous hair, and Spencer's spelling-bee ribbons.

Freya had this…this ability—she had always somehow _transcended_ Alison. Ali used to keep people's secrets and use them to make sure nobody ever rose to threaten her: Freya hated secrets, and never kept any of her own. Always above the lies; never keeping secrets; combating Ali's unkindness towards the girls and other people when she saw feelings being hurt; doing her own thing and never minding what horrible things Ali said about her. It was a mark of Freya's personality that nobody shunned her even when _Ali_, their indisputable leader, had wanted them to.

Aria's mom used to say that in a group of their size, there would always be smaller groups, stronger dynamics and friendships, and there was always one girl on whom it fell to fix the others' problems: Everybody knew who had caused the majority of the problems in their group—Alison—and it was Freya who had ended up going between the girls after a fight, or putting Alison in her place, or just listening when one of the girls had been hit particularly hard by a jibe from Ali about something sensitive.

If Alison had been the magnet, drawing all of the girls together, then Freya had been the glue, keeping them together. Without Ali, the gravity that had pulled them had faltered, and now, without Freya mending the fissures and schisms between the girls, the group had been lost.

Of everyone who had a reason not to pick up her phone-calls, Emily knew Freya had more than a good enough excuse: but when she had stopped inviting the girls over for sleepovers, suggesting spontaneous picnics or trips to the mall, they had started to drift apart. That was why Hanna gave them all but a cold-shoulder, why Spencer and Hanna just about managed to wave to each other in acknowledgement, and the way Emily felt so…lost.

Aria had returned yesterday expecting to see the girls all clustered around someone's locker, laughing and chatting about their evenings, sharing lip-glosses and Bio notes. She had thought she would return to the girls in much the same way as they had ever been: Freya had a way of keeping the girls together in a way Alison had never achieved; with love, and kindness, and laughter, rather than idolatry and a little fear. They had never known what Ali would do, what she would reveal; they gave her their secrets and lived in hope she would never tell, because they saw firsthand what happened when Alison wanted revenge.

Thinking about Jenna made Aria feel sick to her stomach, and she tried not to think about that night, but sometimes… Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, on the verge of tears of horror and shock.

"Doesn't Freya take A.P. anymore?" she asked Emily.

"I can't really say," Emily said, with a guilty little shrug. The truth was, Emily hadn't spent time with Freya since last summer. They were just too different, and without Toby Cavanaugh next-door to come and visit and talk about motorcycles with, Freya no longer came down Serenity Lane, Emily's street. And with her swimming, and Ben, Emily confessed she didn't set time aside to go and see Freya.

"Holy crap," the new teacher said, sounding a little stunned, and as Spencer glanced up from her laptop, she followed Mr Fitz's stare, stunned to see _Aria_ sat in the desk beside Emily's. She no longer had pink streaks in her hair, but it could be no other than Aria, with her subdued kind of Emo-chic wardrobe. As Aria glanced up, she caught sight of the teacher and stared, until her phone went off.

"Sorry," Aria apologised softly, fiddling with her phone, glancing back at _Ezra_.

"Uh, I'm Mr Fitz, your new English teacher," he said, glancing around the class. Concealed by the back of the guy sitting in front of her, Aria checked her phone, and her insides seemed to crystallise like ice as she read the text.

_Aria: Maybe he fools around with students all the time. A lot of teachers do. Just ask your dad. –A._

"Alison?" Aria breathed. Only Ali had ever known about her dad's secret—she had been with Aria when they had stumbled upon her dad's car parked in an obscure backstreet.

There was a _lot_ to think about that first class: first of all, Aria had _made out with the teacher_. She was so _busted_: she'd told him she was thinking about majoring in English…she'd let him assume she was a Hollis student, not a Rosewood High student.

Hanna was _skinny_ and gorgeous.

Mona had gone from Dora to Barbie.

The girls were no longer talking to each other.

Freya's dad had died while they were away in Iceland.

And Alison was still missing.

Twenty minutes into class, the door opened quietly, and, pausing from his lecture on the course module content and expectations for assignments, Mr Fitz glanced at the door: Spencer paused, after finishing her last note, and smiled at Freya as her best-friend entered the classroom.

When Aria had last seen her, Freya had been a dedicated ballerina, hours-long lessons every day; she had always worn her pretty hair up in beautiful up-dos, and had had an emerging sophistication to her edgy, classic style.

In all the time Aria had known her, she could honestly say she had only ever seen Freya wear her hair down once: and she had been stunned to discover that Freya had the most beautiful natural curls. Now, her natural caramel-brunette hair was pulled into a gentle bun, and beautiful, _beautiful_ curls wisped softly around her face, reminding Aria so strongly of the last Halloween they had spent together, her mind went instantly to the fierce punk outfit Freya had _killed_ in that night. In contrast to that petrifying Halloween, though, Freya wasn't wearing black, with smoky eyes: she now wore a tight, dark denim skirt that showed off the long, long length of her lovely legs: Aria glimpsed a gorgeous white lace top under an incredible and edgy leather jacket; a pair of plain, expensive heels and a beautiful rosy-red coral bead necklace completed the outfit, as well as a tiny glint of gold at her throat, and a mannish silver watch Aria thought she recognised.

The rather unruly eyebrows Aria would recognise anywhere hovered expressively over eyes so beautiful a shade of blue she had garnered the envy of everyone since sixth-grade, and there was a wash of very pretty fig-rose lipstick across her beautiful lips; smoky eyes were created with pale cocoa eyeshadow, and her cheeks were warm as if she had come from a heated make-out session with a boy. The only thing was, she didn't look well-sexed, as Freya so often had whenever Jason DiLaurentis had been in Rosewood: she looked _tired_, but still stunning. Fourteen years of intensive ballet training had taught Freya to stand with her back ramrod straight; the heels Aria knew were to prevent Freya getting backache, and now, when all eyes went to her, Freya just stood with her shoulders thrown back defiantly. There was a softness now to her high cheekbones, though her hands were still the prettiest, most elegant Aria had ever seen. And those long, long legs Aria had always envied Freya for her height were subtly tanned, still enviably gorgeous.

"Ah, uh, you're a bit late," the teacher said, glancing at his watch.

"I had to drop my brothers and sisters off. I'm Freya Cecil," Freya replied in that warm, soft voice she had; but now she sounded tired, not irreverent and a little happy, the way she always used to sound. She didn't apologise for being late; Freya's name had always held a lot of weight in Rosewood, but she rarely wielded it like a weapon, and used it more now to spark recognition.

"Oh, that's right!" the teacher—Mr Fitz, said the SmartBoard—said, snapping his fingers. "You were my sticky-note this morning. Uh, take a seat. I'll catch you up later." Freya nodded, and scanned the desks for an empty seat; finding one, she sat down, stripping off the incredible leather-jacket and revealing the gorgeous printed silk lining, teasing at the fact that she wore no bra beneath the white-lace t-shirt.

Aria wondered whether Freya and Jason were still…whatever they had been.

She was glad that Freya's characteristic non-punctuality and fashion-forwardness hadn't worn off: they were just two of the traits she was well-known for, as much as she was her ability to do a perfect Russian _jeté_ and her insatiable lust for Mick Jagger—her takeovers of the stereo at parties were legend, as were her parties themselves.

Freya brought out two new recycled-paper notebooks she had bought from Paperchase, among some of the cutest others, these ones printed with multicoloured flowers, a sleek black pen, and set her cell-phone on her desk as she wrote down the notes projected on the SmartBoard as the teacher went on about the content of their course.

* * *

><p>"He hates me," Freya sighed, glancing across the corridor at Pink, who hadn't returned her smile and wave, and slammed his locker before storming off.<p>

"That wasn't _hate_, Frey," Spencer said, in her gravelly voice, glancing over her shoulder at Travis's retreating back as she stored A.P. History and French texts in her locker. "That's 'you dumped me, and now that I've realised I'll never see you naked again makes me regret showing that photo to all my guy friends'."

Freya sighed, glancing back at Pink and his gorgeous ass before resting her forehead against her locker. "I don't mind the photo thing so much, just for the record."

"Well, of course not—you've got like _no_ shame about showing off your body whatsoever," Spencer said. Freya smirked and rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, we just…didn't have the best time when we went out," Freya shrugged.

"_Right_!" Spencer smirked, chuckling softly. "You expect me to believe that? What happened?" A slow smile lifted the corners of Spencer's mouth as her eyes warmed with amusement.

"Let's just say that he zigged and I zagged," Freya said, shaking her head, and she admitted herself a blush as Spencer laughed. "We both got off, we just…didn't go all the way. I guess I'm just not…ready. Yet." Spencer glanced at her, words exchanged silently. "I look at him, and I still see someone else."

"Have you heard from Jason at all?" Spencer asked.

"I talked to him yesterday," Freya sighed, a raw feeling ripping at her chest; she rubbed the heel of her palm between her breasts and sighed heavily. Missing Jason was like missing a limb; to a dancer, the loss of a leg was the loss of life: Jason was just one of a number of men who had left her, one way or another, and the sense of grief was almost equivalent. But when she'd needed him, Jason had been there for her: yesterday, the day he really needed someone other than condolence-givers and drugged mothers to talk to, she had called; they'd spent a lot of time on the phone, but Jason hadn't returned to Rosewood since his family had sold their old house next-door to the Hastings'.

"How was he?" Spencer asked. Freya exhaled heavily and glanced at Spencer from the corner of her eye; Spencer's expression turned thoughtful. "Enough said."

"So…the new family moved into the DiLaurentis' house?"

"Yeah," Spencer sighed, slinging her bag over her head.

"What're they like?" Freya asked.

"I don't know," Spencer shrugged. "I haven't been over there."

"It's so strange to think it's not the DiLaurentis' house anymore," Freya said softly. She smiled sadly. "No punk music pumping bass from the speakers whenever Mr and Mrs DiLaurentis head to D.C. or New York."

"God, those parties were insane," Spencer shook her head. "I can't believe you used to sneak over and mess with the fuse box."

"Can't you?" Freya chuckled. "If I hadn't, we'd never have gotten any sleep during our slumber-parties."

"You just liked sneaking over there to steal booze and weed while Jason and his friends were all stoned and drunk," Spencer pointed out, and Freya cracked a lazy grin.

"True. Though there were other perks," she smirked; Spencer crinkled her nose, laughing, and swatted a hand at her arm. "Poor Jason."

"_Jason_?" Spencer quirked an eyebrow.

"It's been a year," Freya said softly, glancing at Spencer, whose smile faltered. "And still, no answers… In some ways, it seems like just yesterday I said goodbye to her outside your barn… And in others, it seems like an eternity."

"I know," Spencer said sadly. "Hey, did you see that Aria is back?"

"I did," Freya smiled sadly. "One year later, and we're all home." She glanced at Spencer, who knew what she meant when it went unsaid that Alison wasn't home yet. But after a year, they didn't expect her to return. As she opened her locker she became aware of a petite little dark blur approaching, and glancing up found Aria smiling as she hesitantly approached.

Aria noticed that a big _mom_ bag from Cath Kidston was stuffed into the locker, and the door was already decorated with photographs—of young children, and a baby; all but the baby shared Freya's gorgeous loose curls; the baby was hairless, and beautiful.

"Hey!" she said, and the bag Freya had started rooting through slipped out of the locker; Aria stooped quickly and caught it. She smiled at Spencer, whom she had reunited with in Chemistry.

"There are some benefits to being so close to the ground," Freya said softly, and as Aria straightened up, with the bag, she caught Freya's smile. "Hey, pocket-size."

"You know, I've missed you calling me that," Aria smiled, laughing softly. Freya was like a foot taller than her, and so slender it was enviable, but Aria noticed she wasn't as terribly skinny as she had been during her intense ballet training of freshman year.

"I…didn't know you were back," Freya said softly, offering her hands to take the bag in Aria's arms.

"Yeah, I, uh—we got back yesterday," Aria smiled. "What's _in this_, anyway? It weighs more than I do. Did you knock over a Sephora or something?"

"Hardly," Freya smiled. "It's got all my brothers' and sisters' stuff inside."

"Yeah, oh my gosh, how old are they now?" Aria beamed. She _loved_ Freya's kid siblings; they were energetic and so adorable.

"Kelly's eight; Helen just had her fifth birthday; Kenzi just started sixth-grade," Freya smiled, her eyes warm with utmost affection.

"Wow, sixth grade!" Aria shook her head. "And your mom, the baby?" The last time Aria had seen Freya, her mom had just told Freya that she was pregnant.

"Oh. Abel," Freya said, and her face glowed with affection as she pointed a French-manicured finger to a photograph of the most handsome little baby in the world held by a magnet on the door of her locker. "He's six months at the end of September."

"_Wow_!" Aria breathed, shaking her head. "He's a _cute_ baby."

"Yeah," Freya agreed, beaming at the photograph of a tiny baby peeking over Freya's shoulder; Freya was softly kissing the baby's head in the picture. "He's my gorgeous boy." Something flickered over her face, and Freya glanced at Spencer, who gave her a sad half-smile.

"Is Kenzi as tall as me?" Aria asked, smirking; Kenzi had loved nothing more than hiding in his sister's walk-in closet to terrify the life out of them by jumping out in the middle of a slasher movie.

"Just about," Freya smiled, giving that husky, sultry chuckle. "No sudden growth-spurt on your sixteenth, huh?" Spencer laughed.

"Sadly, no," Aria chuckled. They had all joked that on Aria's sixteenth birthday, she would wake up five-foot-ten and all leg; she hadn't.

"I wouldn't worry," Freya smiled warmly. "You get to wear the _best_ boots."

"True!" Aria grinned. "Hey—d'you guys wanna hang out, after school? Catch up, maybe hit the mall for some accessories?"

"Box of pink hair-dye?" Freya smiled, eyeing Aria's now non-striated hair.

"I don't do that anymore," Aria chuckled, grinning. "And your hair is…_gorgeous_," Aria laughed softly. "I've missed you doing my hair for parties." Freya chuckled softly, giving her an enigmatic smile as she navigated the big bag back into her locker after extricating what looked like a cake-tin.

"I miss it too… I would love to go shopping with you, Aria, and catch up," Freya said softly. "I've missed you… But I can't."

"Oh? Why not?" Aria asked, disappointed.

"I, uh, have to pick up Abel from day-care, Kelly and Helen from elementary school, and Kenzi from O.C.," she said, with a sigh, "and then he has Fall Ball, so…"

"Oh," Aria said softly, glancing at Spencer, who was frowning at the contents of her locker. "Well…d'you wanna sit together at lunch?" The girls exchanged a look, and a smile.

"We would love to," Freya smiled softly.

"Yeah, you have to tell us all about the hot Vikings you met," Spencer grinned.

"Oh, again with the Vikings?" Aria laughed. She wanted to say a lot of things; most of all, that she was sorry about Freya's dad. But she couldn't exactly blurt it out on the way to the cafeteria. "And you better tell me all about your brothers and sisters, Frey. I've missed babysitting them."

"I don't think we so much babysat him as had a slumber-party with him," Freya said, smiling sadly, as they wandered to the cafeteria. Aria laughed.

"Well, I've missed those babysitting-parties," she said honestly. Freya didn't know how to do things halfway: slumber-parties had the emphasis on _party_, and if they were babysitting her kid siblings, they had had a _great_ time, braiding hair, painting nails, dancing around to vintage rock, making weird milkshakes or sundae combinations, getting fat off homemade pizza with odd toppings and after the kids were sent to bed, sneaking booze from Freya's father's liquor cabinet, something her gorgeous elder-brother had taught her how to pick her way into before her thirteenth birthday.

"Me too," Freya said softly, sighing.

"Are you buying too?" Spencer asked, hitching her bag out of the way so she could grab a tray.

"Uh, yeah," Aria smiled.

"Want me to go grab a table?" Freya asked. "Or I can wait." Aria smiled as Freya joined the lunch-line, only because Spencer and Aria needed to buy lunch.

"So, how was Iceland?" Spencer asked.

"Well…the sun went down in October, and came up in April," Aria laughed softly. "Not very much to do."

"You did a lot of writing, I'll bet," Freya said softly, glancing around the cafeteria. "Anything worth publishing on your blog?"

"How do you—You've been following my blog?" Aria said quickly, astounded, glancing at Freya, who had a hint of that mischievous, amused smile Aria remembered and cherished so much.

"Of course," she said softly. "I probably should have sat down to compose a reply, but… I don't know, I'd be up at four a.m. with Abel, and I didn't know what else to do, so I'd just _hope_ you'd updated."

"Well, it's nice to know someone actually reads my blog!" Aria laughed. "But now I'm a little embarrassed about some of the things I wrote. I think you're probably the only who read them, though."

"I don't think that's true," Freya said thoughtfully. "I just can't believe your parents didn't do any further travelling."

"What do you mean?" Aria asked, picking out a safe-looking sandwich and a yoghurt.

"Well, I mean, here you were living in Iceland, just a short plane-ride from the Continent, and you guys never went to visit anywhere," Freya said, again sounding thoughtful. "I would've. I would have taken every opportunity to visit Europe. I'd love to visit France."

"Hey, what happened to that amazing ballet school in Paris?" Aria asked, glancing at Freya, whose smile turned pained. "I thought you were psyched to go to that, since you got accepted."

"Yeah, I… I had to turn down the invitation," Freya said, sighing, scanning the display of cookies, brownies and candy-bars as Spencer took a muffin from the arrangement.

"_What_? Why?" Aria blurted, eyes wide. Freya shrugged delicately.

"A lot has happened since you've been gone, Aria," she said quietly.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to get that," Aria said, glancing across the cafeteria: Emily was sitting with some jock swimmer-friends, and Ben; Hanna and Mona sat in the midst of a crowd of popular kids, and as soon as Spencer had paid, they made their way to the sun-baked courtyard, where Spencer set up her laptop, her expression intense as she typed away at the speed of light.

"Some things that haven't changed," Freya said softly, gently nudging Aria; she pointed out a small poster on one of the redbrick structural columns: Ali's face smiled back at them. Aria sighed heavily.

"I saw another poster of her yesterday," she said, shaking her head. She glanced at Freya. "Hey, are you…are you still seeing Jason?" Spencer chuckled softly behind her laptop, while Freya's stunning eyes glinting with genuine amusement.

"I was never really _seeing_ Jason," she said softly, smiling.

"Well, you saw a lot more of him than any of the rest of us did," Spencer smirked, and Freya chuckled huskily as she swatted a hand at Spencer. Aria had missed that laugh. It had never been a secret—Freya hated them—that she and Jason DiLaurentis had been in a relationship for a little over a year before Ali had gone missing: freshman year, Aria had few memories of Jason that didn't involve Freya: they used to be so wonderful together, always making each other laugh—Jason had made Freya laugh, and for that reason alone, probably, Aria believed Freya's dad had been okay with his beloved teenaged daughter dating a college student.

Aria suddenly wondered how her own father would react if she told him she had hooked up with a college graduate.

"Very true," Freya agreed, with a saucy grin and that husky laugh, light glinting in her beautiful eyes for a brief instant, before a shadow darkened them and a droop came to her slender shoulders. "After, um… Well, with everything that's been going on with his family…and with mine… Life got in the way, you know?"

"Yeah, I kind of get that," Aria exhaled, thinking of Ezra. "Speaking of your family, um… Emily told me, about your dad." Freya glanced at her, those navy cornflower eyes enigmatic as they swept over Aria's face. She sighed softly. "I'm so sorry, Freya." Freya sighed heavily, achieving a tiny, pained smile.

"He's not in pain anymore," she said softly. She sighed and turned to her lunch, unveiling a homemade spinach salad with strawberries, almonds and a bleu-cheese dressing; a pot of natural Greek yoghurt and caramel-coloured honey; and a little brioche bun dusted with sugar.

"I'm really sorry I didn't call," Aria said softly. But then she thought, _How could I just call up and ask, 'Is your dad dead yet'? Doesn't exactly flow well_.

"It's okay," Freya said, glancing at her as she brought out a fork to start eating her salad. "So, tell me about the Icelandic boys who kept you warm."

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.**: I'm re-watching a lot of episodes in anticipation for the season finale to be uploaded to isohunt tonight so I can watch it, but I keep coming back to the fact that I wish they had put more of Jason in the first series—with the new Drew Van Acker Jason and that perfect V at his hips and those _lips_!

* * *

><p><strong>Be Silent and Breathe…<strong>

_02_

* * *

><p>"<em>One<em>, Helen," Freya said sternly, as her youngest sister smeared her fingertips all over the display-case in _Lucky_ _Leon_.

"But Freya—"

"One, Helen," Freya said again, keeping tabs on Kelly, who had her nose stuck in a Terry Pratchett novel. "Kelly, do you want a cupcake or an ice-cream?"

"It's not Friday," Kelly said, and she was wincing a frown as she glanced up, wearing her little tennis dress, her long hair pulled up into a messy ponytail of gorgeous fat ringlets: Helen stood in her little black leotard and tights, completely unabashed, wearing a set of jelly sandals instead of her little ballet slippers, which were now held in the pink drawstring bag over her back, her own curly hair teased into a high bun, wisps of curls framing her lovely little face.

"I know it's not," Freya said quietly. "I'm feeling indulgent."

"Because you're PMS-ing," Kenzi nodded. Freya rolled her eyes as her little brother yawned in his dusty baseball gear, his cap perched on jaunty dark-blonde curls a little sweaty from his practice.

"Have they already started Sex-Ed at school?" Freya asked.

"We don't take Health class until eighth-grade, you know that," Kenzi said, peering at the ice-cream vats. Freya did know that: she'd attended the meeting at Kenzi's new middle-school last spring, to help pick out the classes Kenzi would sign up for when he started sixth-grade last week.

"Anyway, no, I'm not feeling grumpy because I'm PMS-ing," Freya said, catching the girl's eye behind the counter and smiling; she looked highly amused at Mackenzie speaking about PMS in so blasé a fashion. "I'm feeling grumpy because of the news."

"That Alison girl," Kenzi nodded. "She was your friend, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," Freya sighed. "At times, yes, she was."

"And she's still missing," Kenzi said softly, eyeing the ice-creams.

"Yeah," Freya sighed again.

"So that's why you're buying us treats," Kelly said, glancing up from her book again, "even though it's not Friday."

"Yeah. Come on, put that book away and hurry up and choose; the lady doesn't have all night," Freya said, and as Abel cooed, cradled against her waist, she glanced down at him, smiling. "And what're we gonna get, little man?"

Helen chose a big old chocolate ice-cream cupcake mounded with enough frosting and sprinkles to keep her up until Sunday: Kelly asked for a coffee éclair: Mackenzie wanted a slice of cocoa-dusted chocolate and beetroot cake with Cool Whip: Freya had the girl behind the counter mix her up a mini sundae of pistachio gelato, honey and pomegranate arils.

"Alright, go and sit down outside," Freya said, and Kenzi led Helen outside by the hand, Kelly trailing after them, her nose in her _Discworld_ novel, frowning deeply. She watched Kenzi undo the leash tying their English bulldog, Magnus, outside the door, and Magnus followed Kenzi to a little table, sniffing around at Helen's feet. Freya paid, and joined the kids outside at a table on the sidewalk in the dying sunlight: Magnus came to rest at her heels; Helen was laughing with Kenzi, but Kelly winced every time one of Helen's giggles rang out in the humid evening. Adjusting Abel from her hip to her arms, Freya sat down, crossing her knees, and sat with the little baby in her lap, cradled just right, so she could reach for the gelato-pot with one hand and the spoon with her other without jostling him.

"Helen, sit down properly; you'll upset the chair," Freya said, eyeing the wobbling foldable-chair. Helen giggled and settled down cross-legged on her chair, getting chocolate frosting all over her mouth. Freya glanced at Kelly, who was still frowning as she read. "What's up, Kelly?"

"My head hurts," she said, wincing.

"Again? You've been getting headaches all week," Freya said, frowning softly. "Have you been reading all day?"

"Only at lunch…and recess," Kelly said, glancing at Freya. Freya frowned thoughtfully, taking Kelly's book pointedly, and tugged her Blackberry Torch out, tapping a note to remember to book an eye-appointment for Kelly at the optician. "I'll book an appointment to have your eyes tested; you might need glasses." Kelly sighed, closing her book, and turned to her éclair and the bottle of water Freya produced, with half a little kiddie Tylenol. Slipping her phone back into her bag, she bent her head to rub a gentle kiss on the top of Abel's head, watching Kenzi demolish his cake as she helped herself to her little sundae.

"Helen, don't you dare wipe your hands on that leotard. The chocolate will never come out and you won't be able to wear it again." Helen froze, her hands poised to streak down her chest to get rid of the crumbs and frosting; Kenzi rooted through Freya's big _mom_ bag to find the wet-wipes, cleaning off Helen's hands. When they had finished their surprise treats—Friday was treat day; Freya always took the kids for something sweet on a Friday after their activities: Kenzi had Fall Ball; Kelly played tennis; and because Freya loved it, Helen had decided she was to become a ballerina—Freya wrangled Helen into her booster-seat after buckling Abel into his little car-seat: Kelly put on a pair of Freya's sunglasses, and shouted tearfully at Kenzi for putting his CD on loudly when Freya jammed the key in the ignition of her Mercedes 4x4.

"My head hurts!" Kelly shouted, and at her shout, Abel gave a small sob, squirming in his car-seat, his dark navy eyes filling with tears; Freya turned the music down, and Helen cooed at baby Abel; Freya gave Kenzi a look before he could shout back at Kelly.

"No arguing when we get home, alright," Freya said gently, as she pulled into her family's property. "Mom's not very well again." Kenzi sighed heavily, and Kelly fidgeted: Helen continued to distract and amuse the baby, and Freya sighed to herself as she watched her family's ancestral home draw closer as she drove through the woodland park they had owned since 1803. Her mother had in fact just gone back on her medications: she sometimes got inspired to get off them, and start playing mom again, but once the effects of the pills wore off, there would be an instant where she would be herself again, and then everything would collapse; at those times, Freya had to keep the attention on her, rather than let her mother take things out on the kids. The back of her shoulder was still bruised, but at least she could hide it, and the kids had been out when her mother had started, so at least this time, they hadn't had to listen.

"Is she _ever_ going to get better?" Kenzi asked, glancing at Freya, who sighed.

"I don't know, kiddo," she said softly. To herself, Freya had long ago admitted to herself that her mother would never recover: she just had to step up and be the parent her little siblings needed, and try her best to hide how unstable their mother was. "Okay, I want everyone doing their homework before video-games. Kelly, no reading; your head will get worse. And we'll have early baths and bed tonight."

"What?" Kenzi blurted.

"You can stay up an hour later," Freya said, glancing at Kenzi; Kelly sighed, but didn't protest. "But in your room, okay. Not too much noise." Kenzi nodded, glad enough for the reprieve not to push the limits, as he had several times in recent weeks.

The house was quiet, as it usually was when the kids weren't there: the only evidence of her mother being in the house at all was the open liquor cabinet in the drawing-room; Freya sighed as she saw it, knowing what that meant, and closed the door before guiding the kids into the kitchen. Freya sighed as she deposited Abel into his high-chair as Helen, Kelly and Kenzi clattered upstairs to get out of their sports and dance gear, and Freya got out their homework organisers to write down what assignments and projects they had.

When she went to check on her mother, she found her mom passed out in her room, the curtains closed, half a bottle of gin spilt on the floor, the rest poured into a tumbler over melting ice. Freya tucked her mother in under a heavy feather duvet, removed the gin from the room, and added cleaning up the spilt liquor as yet another thing on the list of chores that needed doing.

The entire house, filled with four kids not yet in their teens, with a seventeen-year-old playing Mommy, and the crazy drugged-up drunk hidden in a darkened room, was as tidy as Freya could keep it. It had helped not having to go to school, and the kids had all had summer activities to keep them out of the house, away from their mother, but now that Freya had school too, she didn't know how things would pan out: they had only just received Abel last spring, when they had developed the system for Kenzi, Kelly and Helen.

After getting Spencer on the phone to help coach Kelly through her math homework, Freya helped Kenzi with his spelling for a test on Friday, and Helen announced that she had a project to do: after arguing about the book they wanted Freya to start reading to them—they had just finished _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_—Freya sent Kenzi and Kelly upstairs to shower; blow-drying Kelly's hair, Freya kept a watch on the bath as it ran with warm-water for Helen and baby Abel, who was playing with one of his toy rings on his beloved baby-blanket, spread on the bathroom floor, and as soon as Kelly's hair was damp rather than soaked, Freya sent her off to get ready for bed.

Helen was wrangled by Kenzi, already in his pyjamas and playing on his _PSP_, into the bath, and Freya got Abel undressed and ready for a bath, and she laughed as the two smallest of her siblings played in the bath, keeping a close eye on Abel. Her hair washed, Helen yawned, tired of the bath, and hopped out after Freya doused her hair free of shampoo.

"Pyjamas on, Helen," Freya called, as her littlest sister giggled that wonderful giggle that reverberated through the house and seemed to make things dance with golden light, happiness rich in the young timbre of her voice. The bathroom-door open, she knelt on the fresh bath-mat she had laundered only yesterday in front of the huge copper tub, smiling and teasing baby Abel as he experimented with kicking his legs and making splashes; the sparse fair hair on his head stuck up in a mound of baby shampoo bubbles, and he sucked away on his little elephant pacifier as he blinked those dark navy eyes at the bubbles, and the bath-toys Helen had been playing with.

"But Freya—"

"Kenzi, help Helen put her pyjamas on," Freya called.

"I'm doing my homework!" Kenzi called back.

"Like hell! I can hear the theme music to _Mario Kart_ in here!" Freya called, and Abel glanced up, his little face brightening as he recognised her face, her familiar voice having attracted his attention; she beamed at him, tickling his chin.

"Fine!" Kenzi huffed, appearing to corner Helen, who was giggling and running around in her towel. Helen was forced into her little pink Sleeping Beauty pyjamas, ordered into bed by Kenzi, and left to wait for Freya to come and read a bit of the new story. First she had to get Abel ready for bed, and she removed the plug from the bath after gently rinsing the bubbles and shampoo from the baby, lifting Abel out of the bath into a warm towel, cradling him as she gathered his blanket and left the bathroom.

Today was, given everything, a good day: she'd had no arguments with Kenzi, no sass from Helen; Abel hadn't cried since she had dropped him off at day-care—strangers had begun to make him nervous—and so far they hadn't heard from her mother. That wasn't unusual; if she wasn't ready to raise hell after coming off her meds, Freya's mother remained in her room, drugged up and lying in bed, not eating the food Freya made attempts to coax her with. She got a fresh diaper on Abel, tucked him into a freshly-laundered warm little bodysuit, and carried him, wrapped in his blanket, in her arms downstairs while she made him up a bottle, giving him little kisses, hugging him, his warm little body in her arms and his little hot cheek resting against her neck, his tiny little dimpled hand clutching at her t-shirt.

Kelly and Helen were already in bed when Freya reached their shared bedroom—shared because Helen didn't like being on her own, and in February, Freya had moved her bed into Kelly's room to solve the problem of Helen climbing into bed with her, waking her up at odd hours while she was trying to mother Abel, because her mom couldn't do it.

"Alright, where's my book?" Freya asked, and Kelly clambered out of bed to bring her _Stardust_, by Neil Gaiman; Freya sat down in the rocking chair, expertly nestling Abel so the arm she curled around him could hold his bottle, holding the book with the other. Freya sighed, yawning, and began to rock as she started to read, "'Chapter One. In which we learn of the village of Wall, and of the curious thing that occurs there every nine years_… _There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart's Desire…'"

Freya was _very_ tired by the time she clicked on the nightlight in Kelly and Helen's bedroom, depositing a slumbering Abel into his cot, turning on the baby-monitor: she paused at Kenzi's room, ducking her head inside just long enough to tell him to keep his music down, and she'd be up in an hour to make sure he was going to bed. She gathered up the laundry-basket and made her way downstairs, carrying the receiver for Abel's monitor. Sorting washing in the laundry-room off the kitchen, Freya yawned, glad she had put her music on to keep her awake, and she checked her watch and grabbed the phone, dialling Spencer's home-number without even looking at the phone, it was so ingrained in her memory, as she sorted laundry.

Mr Hastings picked up on the second ring. "Hi Freya," he chuckled softly. "You looking for Spence?"

"Yes, please," Freya said, smiling to herself.

"I'll pass you on," Mr Hastings chuckled. Away from the phone, she heard him say, "Spencer, it's your twin."

"Thanks, Dad," Spencer said, chuckling softly. "Hey!"

"Hey, can you chat?"

"Yeah, Wren and Melissa just left for the barn," Spencer sighed, and Freya frowned.

"Hang on—_your_ barn?" Freya asked. "The one we designed especially for _you_ to move into after we've spent the last three months refurbishing it?"

"That would be the one," Spencer said tightly.

"Why aren't they moving into Melissa's condo in the city?" Freya asked, frowning, resting the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she measured out fabric-softener.

"It's still undergoing renovations," Spencer said, "and because they're having _sex_ means they can't live in my room."

"You have a double-bed," Freya said. "Was this Melissa's idea, or the new fiancé's?"

"Whose do you think?" Spencer asked drily.

"One of these days, you are going to have to have a smack-down with the Popsicle Lady," Freya said, scowling. "She walks all over you—and you let her."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do!" Freya said, smiling at the hint of resentment in Spencer's voice. "I love you, but you let her treat you like shit. So, tell me about the fiancé."

"He's…he's actually nice," Spencer said softly. Freya raised an eyebrow.

"Spence, I know that tone of voice," she said, smirking. "Is he gorgeous?"

"He's English," Spencer sighed, and a door closed on her end of the line. "He said he'd say something to Melissa about the barn. I told him not to; it won't make a difference."

"He's a med student, right?" Freya asked, turning the washing-machine dial.

"Yeah," Spencer said, and she sounded like she was smiling.

"How did they meet? Did he consult on her appointment to get the stick removed from her ass?" Freya asked, and Spencer laughed.

"Freya, that's terrible!"

"Oh, or was it to get that odd mole removed from behind her ear?"

"What mole?"

"You know, the really weird one—looks like three sixes," Freya said, and Spencer laughed.

"Oh, that one," Spencer chuckled. Freya hadn't liked Melissa Hastings since she had stolen Freya's popsicle on the fourth of July when she was six, pushing her backwards into the DiLaurentis' pool. Last summer had only solidified her opinion that Melissa Hastings was the most conceited, narcissistic sociopath she had ever met. And that included Alison DiLaurentis, which said a lot. "Yeah, no; I don't think it was anything that romantic."

"You're still going to help me renovate my room, and the barn, right?" Freya asked. "Add some more projects to your design portfolio?"

"You know I will," Spencer said softly, sighing.

"Hey, don't worry about it; as soon as Melissa's condo is fixed up, they'll move out," Freya said, checking the refrigerator to make notes on the shopping-list. "If he's a med student, he'll need to be in Philly, if that's his first choice for a residency."

"Melissa's convinced him he wants to work at Rosewood-Cecil," Spencer sighed.

"You mean once they're married, they might live in Rosewood?" Freya grimaced, shivering. After last summer, she would never trust Melissa Hastings; a lot of bad stuff had happened, most of which Freya had no clue about, but with what she _did _know, she could imagine what had gone on behind closed doors in the DiLaurentis house when she wasn't there and Jason's _friends_ were.

"Looks that way," Spencer sighed despondently.

"Can't your parents cut the cord and the credit-cards already?" Freya asked grumpily; Melissa Hastings was the most rapacious, stuck-up girl Freya had ever had the displeasure of knowing. "She stays in Rosewood any longer, she'll run out of little children to snack on while they dream." Spencer laughed.

"Freya!"

"I'm just saying… Girl seriously needs to move to a place that isn't too small for her giant ego," Freya sighed. "She makes Georgina Sparks look like an angel."

"Have you been watching _Gossip Girl_ again?" Spencer asked chidingly.

"I TiVo'd it so I can watch it when Abel wakes up," Freya said lightly. "That and _The O.C._ Try finding something else to do at three a.m. with a crying baby and three kids sleeping upstairs."

"Touché," Spencer replied. "Hey, did Kelly finish her homework?"

"Yeah, thanks," Freya sighed. "And Kenzi thanks you for helping him with his Bio. I figured the girl he has a tremendous crush on has a better chance of getting him to do his homework than I do." Spencer laughed.

"You are so gonna torture those kids when they're a little older," she chuckled.

"Absolutely," Freya smirked. "I've got bath-time photos all set out to print."

"Have you caught up with those scrapbooks yet?" Spencer asked curiously.

"Almost," Freya said. "Kind of got sidetracked the other day."

"Oh, why?"

"I…stumbled on some old photos of me and…Jason," Freya sighed, and Spencer made a compassionate noise on the other end of the line. She fidgeted with the glass she was adjusting in the cupboard, emptying the dishwasher. "Wasn't expecting to see them… Anyway, have you looked over the English reading-list?"

"Yeah, I have," Spencer said. "How many of the novels have you already read?"

"More than half," Freya said, sighing. "Guess that'll help. I won't have to re-read them. I've annotated all of the ones I've read."

"Hey, what'd Mr Fitz talk to you about, after class?" Spencer asked.

"Oh. The office told him about my _situation_, so I've been excused for the first twenty minutes of first-period," Freya said. "And last-period. Thank god they gave me credit for ballet as P.E. or I'd never be able to graduate."

"That's good that they're giving you that time off. That'll help, right?" Spencer asked.

"I hope so," Freya sighed. "Doesn't change the fact that I still have to be assigned homework."

"Are you struggling?"

"I haven't even started," Freya groaned.

"It's nearly ten already," Spencer said. "Cutting it late, aren't you?"

"Well, I won't be able to start it for a while yet: I've got the laundry to do; Mom spilled a drink in her room so that needs cleaning up; I've got to get the dinner ready for tomorrow night, and I have to make lunches," she yawned.

"Well…I guess, they've given us a few days for our assignments," Spencer said. "Except Trig. At least you're not doing A.P. History; they've already assigned us two essays."

"That's ridiculous," Freya grumbled. "You've already started them, haven't you?" She laughed.

"No!" Spencer protested. She sighed. "Kinda got a lot on my mind."

"Yeah," Freya said softly.

"Hey, what're you cooking?" Spencer asked.

"Fishcakes."

"Are you using that new Jamie Oliver cookbook again?" Spencer asked.

"Thirty minute meals. He lied," Freya said flatly. "And yes, I am."

"That's a good cookbook. That risotto was to die for. My parents thought we'd ordered in," Spencer chuckled. Freya grinned.

"It was nice to sit with Aria at lunch," she said, thinking of food; she sighed and glanced at the refrigerator, knowing she'd have to get the lunches ready before she could start her homework.

"Right!" Spencer said smilingly. "Felt kinda weird though, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Freya agreed. "I'd forgotten how tiny she is." Spencer chuckled.

"Yeah. No pink stripes anymore, though."

"Well, you don't wear those dorky black glasses anymore either," Freya smirked.

"My dad told me they made me look scholarly," Spencer said defensively, and Freya laughed; Spencer chuckled too. "Okay, I know they were awful."

"You know…I was thinking…maybe the five of us could get together," Freya said slowly, as she pulled out her new Trigonometry textbook from the 'school'-designated shelf in the family library, lugging it back into the kitchen, where she grabbed the plate with a fillet of salmon, haddock and a tuna-steak from the refrigerator, as well as the last quarter of a loaf of bread she had made two days ago.

"Like old times?" Spencer asked.

"Well, maybe not exactly like old times," Freya said thoughtfully. "But…I don't know. We all drifted apart, and…I miss _us_."

"Yeah," Spencer said softly. "Me too."

"I don't miss Ali's drama, though," Freya added, picking flat-leaf parsley from the line-up of potted herbs on the windowsill, and, using her palm, bashed a bulb of garlic apart so she could pluck a clove, putting the rest in the bowl of garlic bulbs, colourful onions and potatoes on the island, and grabbing a lemon from the bowl of vibrant citrus fruits, pomegranates and chillies.

"No, me neither," Spencer agreed vehemently. In a gentler tone, she added, "It would be kinda nice to have one of our old-school sleepovers. At whose place, though?"

"Not mine," Freya murmured, locking the lid of the food-processor in place after tearing up the quarter-loaf of bread in chunks and adding it, checking the kitchen staircase.

"Why not? We all love the kids!" Spencer said, sounding surprised. "Aria hasn't even met Abel yet."

"It's not the kids I'm worried about," Freya said softly, glancing at the stairs and the kitchen entryway. "It's my mother." Spencer sighed on her end.

"Is she back on her meds?" she asked sombrely.

"Yeah. And she's back on the gin, too," Freya said quietly. For a moment, neither she nor Spencer spoke.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked quietly. Freya sighed deeply. _In a word: No._

"Yeah, I'm alright," she murmured.

"And your shoulder?" Spencer asked. "That was a pretty vicious bruise, Frey."

"Nothing I can't handle," Freya said softly. "As long as she's on her meds, she stays in her room all the time. Call me Rochester. The crazy chick in the attic is my _mom_ instead of my wife."

"Freya," Spencer admonished gently.

"Well, it's true. And she sees the ghost of my dad," Freya said, mildly indignant, as she pulled out a pack of fresh binder-paper to start her math, not wanting to use the food-processor while she was on the phone. "She's the Heathcliff to my dad's Cathy."

"That's such a good story," Spencer said wistfully.

"Right!" Freya agreed. "You're coming over soon to watch the new BBC adaptation, yeah?"

"God yeah, Tom Hardy!" Spencer laughed. "Count me in! Hey, maybe we could make a night of it! You could come over to mine or something. All of the girls; you, me, Em, Aria, Hanna."

"That would be nice," Freya smiled warmly. "Hey, I could make my _brownies_!"

"Aren't you missing the key ingredient?" Spencer chuckled.

"Good point," Freya smirked. She sighed. "Alright, I'd better get going. I've got these fishcakes to make up, and this math assignment to get finished."

"Okay. Don't stay up too late," Spencer said concernedly. "This is why people invented laundry services."

"Really? Well, maybe you can redirect yours to my house!" Freya laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night," Spencer said smilingly.

"Night." Freya hung up the phone, blitzed the bread until she had breadcrumbs, and did the same with the fish, and made up several large fishcakes to fry off tomorrow for dinner, setting them in the refrigerator overnight. She turned to making lunches for her siblings: sandwiches; little baggies of Goldfish; cheese cut into flowers and dinosaurs; a dozen jellybeans and a Modjeska candy apiece; a tub of fruit-salad from the large glass bowl she kept fully-stocked in the fridge; a pudding-cup, and she filled their water-bottles with watered-down juice, setting them in the fridge to cool overnight. She used the KitchenAid to knead dough for fresh bread, and sat at the island with her trig textbook, waiting for the dough to rise, so she could bake it.

Sighing, she reached for her Blackberry as it buzzed with a text, yawning, and flicked it open, opening up a text with a photo attachment.

Someone had snapped a photograph of Freya carrying Abel in his towel out of the bathroom, with his little pacifier and toy. The text?

_Freya: You look great with a baby on your hip. Even if he's not yours. – A_.

Freya suddenly went cold. Sitting up straighter, she glanced around the kitchen, checking on the baby-monitor, and glanced at the windows. Since last summer, she was a stickler for closing blinds and curtains, and she hadn't missed any. Yet this photograph had been taken from the bathroom-window.

She glanced back at the text. _A_.

A for Alison.

She licked her lips, trying to stop the goose-bumps prickling her bare arms, and sat back against her chair, dropping her cell-phone on the table. Something about the text… '_Even if he's not yours_'. It made it seem like whoever had sent the text _knew_ about…

But Ali had disappeared before Freya had even _known._ Disappeared: Was Ali still…in Rosewood? Freya's stomach dipped, and she shivered, suddenly going cold again. How did Alison know about that? Only Spencer and Mr and Mrs Hastings knew about that; not even her own mother knew.

How the hell was Alison, who had been missing for a year, texting her? About something that had happened after she had disappeared?

She picked up her phone, tapping a quick text back: _Who is this?_

She sent another text to Spencer: _Did you just get a weird text?_

Spencer replied instantly: _No, why?_

_Probably just a prank_.

* * *

><p>"Hey, you!" Hanna beamed, as she skipped over to Freya's locker. "What happened this morning?"<p>

"This morning?" Freya asked.

"You totally skipped first and second-period," Hanna laughed. "Where'd you go? Rive Gauche for brunch? Mani-pedi at that gorgeous new day-spa?"

"I had to make some calls," Freya said, slamming her locker door. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, sighing as she opened them again; she was _exhausted_, and the can of Diet Coke she slung back the last of wasn't kicking in as quickly as she'd hoped.

"About what?" Hanna asked.

"Kenzi's dentist, an eye-appointment for Kelly," Freya moaned softly. She felt like she was teetering on her feet, about to fall. "And Abel was awake at five again this morning, so…"

"Hm," Hanna frowned. "Well, hey, why don't we do one of our spa days sometime soon? Call Hollis for a babysitter? You need to chillax." Freya yawned, smiling, resting her head against the locker.

"That sounds…great," she said softly. "Maybe add in a massage and a forty-hour nap."

"Yeah, you're like mainlining Diet Coke these days," Hanna laughed. "Are you morphing into Spencer? You know she bleeds caffeine."

"It's the only thing that can keep me awake," Freya said. "I was up until one trying to get my homework out of the way."

"And then Abel woke up at five? Ouch," Hanna grimaced sympathetically.

"Yeah," Freya yawned again. "And now I have to run, I've got to pick Helen and Kelly up from—"

"Hey, wait, you're not coming to the yearbook meeting?"

"_What_?" Freya gasped.

"We're having a meeting today—right now!" Hanna said, staring at her.

"I can't—I have to pick the girls up; Abel's got a doctor's appointment at five, and Kenzi's having dinner at his friend Seth's house," Freya said desperately.

"Okay, well, do you want me to reserve you some pages?" Hanna asked.

"Candids," Freya smiled.

"You're great at those," Hanna smiled. "Always make everybody look great, too."

"It's a gift," Freya chuckled. "Hey, Spencer and I were thinking, at some point, maybe we could have a slumber-party—you, me, Spence, Aria and Emily?"

"That sounds great!" Hanna beamed. "Yeah, we…I think maybe we should all catch up. We haven't hung out since…" She glanced at Freya, and her face fell slightly; Freya knew she was thinking of the last time they had truly all hung out, as that support-system they had all needed because of and after Alison's disappearance: Freya's dad's funeral had been the last time the girls had all spent time together—minus Aria, who had left for her dad's sabbatical in Iceland, what had seemed then like an exile for eternity.

"Great!" Freya smiled. "Listen, I really have to go, or I'll be meeting the wrath of my younger sisters. And the day-care staff. This is the third time I've been late in as many weeks."

"Okay, go," Hanna laughed. "I'll reserve you special interest in the candid photo shots."

"Thank you!" Freya called, and dashed off.

Hanna watched Freya go. Looking at Freya, in her gorgeous camel-leather buckled skirt and striped blue-and-white t-shirt, her casual, timeless bun and frosty sunglasses, it was easy to forget she wasn't just a teenager at high-school; she had a family she had to take care of, in a way Hanna didn't fully realise, because they were no longer as close as they had been when Freya would climb like a ballet-ninja into her room from the window, bearing a bucket of _Ben & Jerry's_, fashion magazines, a handful of bottles of nail-polish, and a box of tissues to fix what Alison had said to reduce Hanna to tears.

It was Freya who had taught Hanna how to dress her new figure, how to wear her makeup, and how to style her hair when she wore it up: Freya always looked gorgeous; she had won Best Dressed the last five years running, ever since sixth-grade, and she looked great no matter what she wore. But she worked as hard to keep her body in shape as Hanna did, only, Freya did it because she was a ballerina: her strict, healthy diet had become Hanna's, and they still met up for lunch sometimes, and sessions at the gym at Freya's country-club. But each time came longer after the last, and Hanna missed hanging out with her friend: They had known each other since third grade, when, ironically, Alison had been bullying Hanna for being a little plump; Freya, always the unexpected one, had popped Alison in the mouth, and had invited Hanna to join her and Spencer, her best-friend since they were three, to play with them during recess—which had meant painting their nails with a bottle of polish Freya had stolen from Melissa Hastings' bedroom, sharing a bag of Fruit Gushers, and watching the boys play baseball on the field.

As she left the Yearbook meeting, Hanna met up with Spencer and Emily in the hall, both leaving the locker-rooms after swimming or field-hockey practices: Hanna didn't do so well with getting her hair wet, and her extracurricular activities were limited to Yearbook, shopping and partying. She felt she had earned the right to that, after the effort she had put in to create her new look.

"Hey!" she smiled. "How was practice?"

"Exhausting," Spencer winced, making a strange movement with her shoulder. "I think I threw my shoulder."

"That's bad, right?"

"That's bad," Spencer laughed.

"Em, how was swimming? Are you gonna get Captain this year?" Hanna asked, smiling.

"Maybe," Emily blushed, pleased.

"Hey, I saw Freya earlier," Hanna said, glancing at Spencer. "She mentioned doing a slumber-party sometime soon."

"Yeah, we talked about it last night," Spencer smiled. "We're all back…" She shrugged. "We thought it'd be nice to spend some time together again."

"Where is Freya?" Emily asked. "I thought she was on the Yearbook staff."

"She had to pick up her sisters," Hanna shrugged. "Something's going on at home, I don't know." Spencer glanced at her, concealing something, and she sighed.

"She's not leaving early to go to dance lessons?" Emily asked.

"Freya isn't dancing anymore," Spencer said, her voice a little dark.

"What?" Hanna blurted, shocked. "Since when! Freya _lives_ for ballet. I thought she was going to join the Bolshoi or whatever."

"A lot's changed," Spencer said sadly.

"Tell me about it," Emily sighed softly.

"Yeah, I saw you hanging out with that new girl," Hanna said, glancing at Spencer. "Is she the one who moved into Ali's house?"

"Yeah," Emily said softly, and Hanna glanced from her to Spencer.

"I haven't met the family yet," Spencer said, hitching her messenger-bag into a more comfortable position as they strutted out of the school. "Been dealing with my own."

"Yeah, how was that dinner, with Melissa's fiancé?"

"It was…dinner with Melissa." She sighed, giving them a look they all knew well; Melissa tried all of them, but Spencer had to live with the girl, something Freya thought was against human rights.

Reaching the parking-lot, Spencer diverged to her car, waving; Emily walked off, and Hanna grinned and waved as Sean gestured her over; he had just finished football practice, and was giving her a ride home just like normal.

* * *

><p>Home wasn't…homey when Melissa was back from Philadelphia. It was like a permanent glacier was wedged between the two, and on one side was Spencer, and on the other was Melissa, their parents, and now Wren.<p>

Gorgeous Wren with his hot English accent and his _magic_ hands that had made her "_bursa-sack_" feel so much better. That workout during field-hockey practice had messed up her shoulder. Lying on her bed, Spencer sighed as she propped her head up on her hand, reading page thirty-five of _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Her phone sat on the bedspread next to her binder, but no texts had arrived since Freya's text about meeting up for dinner; she'd had to cancel, since Helen's play-date had fallen apart, and something had happened between Kelly and her best-friend, and Kelly had been disinvited from a midweek sleepover, and was very upset. When they were kids, it had been her and Freya against the rest of the world—usually Melissa—and they must have had fights like the one Kelly was going through with her friend Madelyn, but compared to what Alison had wreaked on their lives when she decided she wanted Spencer as part of her posse, they were inconsequential.

Ali was gone now: but Spencer and Freya had become even closer in the year since Alison had gone missing. Not because of Ali—because of everything else. Spencer, Hanna, Emily and Aria had had to deal with the loss of their friend. Alison going missing had been one tragic event amongst others in Freya's life, and it was because of those, and their long history together, that after everything Alison had tried to put their friendship through, they had survived, and come out stronger for it. Spencer looked at Freya, and she saw her sister. A real, affectionate sister who had her back—and her front—no matter what, who she could go to with anything and know she wouldn't get that ugly, wounded-bear snarl that Melissa put on when she discovered something about Spencer that she didn't like. She and Freya shared everything, had done since they were three years old, and now, Spencer knew if she showed up unannounced at Freya's house, Freya would still have expected her. It didn't matter what they were doing, what crap they were going through, if they could get together, they could get through it.

Spencer just hoped she wasn't asked to be a bridesmaid at Melissa's wedding—or at the very least, that she could work her parents over with the idea of having Freya be a bridesmaid too, just so she didn't have to go through the trauma alone. Freya _loved_ parties—birthdays, weddings, holidays, even Christenings: once upon a time, she'd never needed an excuse to start a spontaneous party, but then again, Freya had once hung out with Jason DiLaurentis, party-boy of Rosewood, and even now was known as a heavyweight when it came to drinking, and according to hallway gossip, guys who'd spent time in the back of their cars with Freya Cecil claimed the experience was "life-changing".

The prospect of asking her parents—who would be bank-rolling the whole wedding, Spencer was sure, right down to the last sugared-almond and flute of _pink_ champagne—to recruit Freya as a bridesmaid made Spencer reconsider the whole wedding deal. Of anyone, Freya Cecil would be the one to put Melissa in her place if she tried to force a burlap sack on Spencer in place of a bridesmaid-dress, just to humiliate Spence and keep the focus on her, as always. She could suggest that Kelly and Helen be flower-girls: they were utterly gorgeous little girls, and Melissa wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection in her wedding.

Still, she couldn't believe that Melissa had met someone like _Wren_.

That Wren could _possibly_ want to marry someone like _Melissa_.

He was way too good for her. _He'll realise it, too_.

Hearing Melissa's laugh, Spencer paused, and climbed off the bed. At the window, she gazed out at Melissa and Wren giggling and flirting at the door of the newly-converted barn. _Her_ barn. She watched, something slipping in her chest, as Wren cradled Melissa's face in his hands and gently kissed her.

Her computer bleeped, and Spencer glanced around, at her study-area, which was consumed by a huge bulletin-board stuffed with award-ribbons; A+ essays; outfit ideas from magazines; notes; postcards; timetables and a map of the Hollis campus; and photographs. _Lots_ of photographs.

Her laptop was set in the centre of her OCD-organised desk, and she sat down, opening it up, clicking on the email icon. Opening up the message from an undisclosed sender, she frowned.

_From: A_

_To: Spencer_

_Poor Spencer. Always wants Melissa's boyfriends._

_But remember, if you kiss I tell._

_– A._

Spencer stared at the email, going cold. '_If you kiss I tell_…' There was only one person besides Freya who knew that Spencer had once been with Ian, and only Ali knew they had kissed _before_ Ian had dumped Melissa. Spencer stared at the email, her mind going back to last summer, after the nastiness with the Jenna thing, and before Ali had gone missing.

It had been blistering-hot; after sunning themselves at the edge of the DiLaurentis' pool, Ali had declared herself hungry, and the Hastings house always had the best snacks: she had decided they should have lunch over at Spencer's house, and, walking into the kitchen, they found a tray of freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookies the housekeeper had made.

* * *

><p>Hanna smiled happily as she helped herself to a cookie, but Ali, pausing at the island, gave her a condescending smile.<p>

"Are you really gonna eat that, sweetie?" she asked sweetly, and the smile faltered from Hanna's face as her hand—and the cookie she held in it—lowered. "I'm being a friend, Hanna."

Melissa's heels alerted them to her presence, as she dragged Ian into the house by the hand, like she was pulling a dog on a leash. "Aren't you supposed to be at Alison's?"

"Hi, girls," Ian said, as he came in from the sun.

"Hey, Ian," Ali said casually.

"D'you still need help with your scoop, Spence? I've got my stick in the car," Ian said, and Spencer stifled a shiver as he smiled at her.

"Ian, what are you? Her babysitter?" Melissa laughed. She scoffed gently, still smiling, and started to lead Ian away. Alison glanced at her with that determined look she got when she wanted something done her way. Usually it appeared when she was facing off against Freya, the only one who never cared about impressing Alison to make Ali like her: Freya pirouetted to the beat of her own classic punk songs, and never let Ali get away with it when she tried to get the other girls to shun her.

"You need to tell your sister," she said decisively; Spencer stared at Alison, her cheeks warming as her insides went cold.

"Tell me what?" Melissa asked, dropping back. Spencer stared from Alison to Melissa, as her sister raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Nothing," Spencer smiled, with a small laugh, concealing her nervousness.

"Come on," Melissa said to Ian, who followed where she led. Spencer let out a breath, and glanced at Alison.

"Outside." Smirking, Ali followed Spencer out onto the porch, sauntering in her striped bikini: Spencer shut the door after her with a snap.

"What the hell are you doing?" Spencer demanded.

"She's gonna find out," Alison said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No she's _not_!" Spencer said defensively.

"I promise you; she is," Ali retorted, with an unctuous smile. "Because if you don't tell her, I will."

"I thought you were my friend," Spencer frowned, feeling betrayed. She had asked Alison to keep it a secret that Ian had kissed her after…helping her with her field-hockey skills. She didn't want to hurt Melissa—who would make Spencer pay with revenge many multiples of what the kiss was worth.

"Don't you get it?" Alison scoffed. "I'm trying to help you do the right thing!"

"It was one kiss!" Spencer fumed. Alison scoffed and whirled around; Spencer grabbed onto her hand and pulled her back. "Listen to me, Alison—listen—"

"Or what?" Ali snarled. Spencer straightened her back, throwing her shoulders back and levelling Ali with a look she had learned from watching Freya deal with her.

"If you say one word to my sister about Ian, I will tell everyone the truth about the _Jenna_ thing," she threatened. Alison scowled, her expression growing angrier, as she snatched back her arm and stormed off, ignoring Freya as the taller, very slender girl approached in a gorgeous little pink strapless sweetheart-bandeau push-up bikini-top and matching bottoms with two little gold rings at her hips. The hue of the bikini offset her gorgeous even tan, the tiny size of the set strategically showing off the muscle-tone she worked so hard to achieve through rigorous daily ballet workouts, her tiny, tiny waist and slender hips. She was putting her hair up, and there was a gentle flush to her skin, and she smiled lazily as she approached Spencer, not even caring about Alison's frosty brush-off.

"Did I just miss the Munich Conference?" she asked teasingly. "What happened?" She glanced from Spencer's face to Ali's retreating back.

"She's…threatening to tell Melissa about me kissing him," Spencer flushed. She didn't feel _great_ about having kissed her older-sister's long-term boyfriend, but it was _Ian Thomas_. "Says she's trying to make me do the _right_ _thing_."

"Magnanimous of her," Freya said, glancing around as she pinned a twisted lock of hair into a gorgeous casual bun. "While she's at it, she can tell Melissa all about _her_ flirting with Ian."

"What?"

"Come on! You've noticed!" Freya laughed softly, glancing at Ali's back again. "She's been obsessed with Ian since, like…before _Halloween_. She was Gaga. He was Clyde. Remember?"

"Oh yeah. Eric Kahn's party," Spencer said softly, stifling a shiver from the memory of last Halloween's scares, turning to frown at Alison. "She's been flirting with him?"

"For ages," Freya shrugged. "You should see her when he's next-door hanging with Jason and Satan's Mistress isn't around." Spencer sighed, glancing at Freya, noting her hair. Freya never took her hair down, and if she was re-pinning it in place, that only meant one thing;

"So did you have fun having _sex_ with _Jason_?" she asked, and Freya shot her a saucy grin as she opened the back-door and strolled inside, Spencer curious as she followed; none of the other girls had lost their virginity yet, but Freya was the eldest of them, and had been a serial-dater since seventh-grade; she had been hanging out with Jason DiLaurentis for years, despite their age-gap: Freya could make people forget she was only sixteen, because she'd had to learn how to grow up and take responsibility far earlier than most kids. Even if Jason was probably _the_ most gorgeous guy Spencer had ever met, he was still _odd,_ part of that alien life-form called "older-brother" and "college-student".

* * *

><p>Back in the present, Spencer sighed heavily, tracing her fingertips over her face, clasping them behind her neck as she leaned back in her chair. Her eyes kept going back to the signature on the email. <em>A<em>.

She lurched out of her chair, a thought suddenly coming to her, and grabbed her phone. Fingers dancing over the touch-keypad, she sent Freya a text.

_Who sent u that txt last night?_

_Why_?

A moment later, as she pondered her response, another text came in from Freya; _Did u get 1 too?_

_From A?_

_Yes. _

_Can u come over? _she sent back.

_Picking K up from a friend's. Got them all in the car. I can pick u up too; come over to mine?_

_I'll b ready. Honk 4 me_.

_I hate honking. Feels so cheap_.

_Ur welcome to knock. M's in the vicinity. She might answer_.

_I'll honk_.

_Thought so_.

As she smirked at the reply, Spencer frowned and glanced up; blue and red lights were flashing, which was odd. She grabbed her handbag, stuffing her phone inside with her _Mockingbird_ book and grabbed a jacket before making her way downstairs.

As Freya pulled the car down Serenity Lane, Kenzi sat up straighter in the seat beside her; police-cruisers, E.M.T. vans and fire-trucks were all parked haphazardly halfway down the street, cutting off access to anywhere past the DiLaurentis house. Neighbours and passersby had come to gather at police-tape, which ran from one of the trees on the Hastings estate, to a fence-panel on the other side of the DiLaurentis property.

"What's going on?" Kenzi asked.

"I don't know," Freya said thoughtfully, frowning. She drew the car up beside the Hastings' gate, and found Spencer on the sidewalk, staring with wide eyes at the mass of people and vehicles piled around the DiLaurentis house. "Stay here. Watch Abel and your sisters." Releasing her seatbelt, Freya climbed out of the car, leaving the stereo on, and made her way to Spencer.

"What's going on?" she asked, linking an arm around Spencer's little waist; her friend blinked wide, glazed eyes, her cheeks pale, but she couldn't answer: Freya followed her gaze, and watched, her knees threatening to cave and her stomach bubbling instantly as her mind processed what she was seeing as a gurney was wheeled to a coroner's van. A body-bag lay atop it, strapped in place, and the floodlights from the construction-crew working on an extension for the new owners illuminated everything with blinding clarity; Emily Fields staring in horror, standing beside the new girl, Maya, a hand going to her mouth as she burst into shocked tears; curling blonde hair, Hanna's, glistened as she turned to watch the gurney pass her.

"The construction-crew…" Freya whispered hoarsely, watching Emily's reaction even as her legs continued to wobble ominously as something molten bubbled sickeningly in her stomach. The construction-crew were digging up the DiLaurentis' gazebo to make way for what Emily had mentioned earlier today was to be a cellists' studio for Mrs St Germain, the new owner.

The gazebo… Freya went cold, and her throat burned as her eyes grew hot, reaching for Spencer's hand; her friend squeezed back, letting out a choked breath. The gazebo had been under construction last summer, a replacement for the old folly they used to recreate the "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" dance from _The Sound of Music_ in, and used as their base of operations for water-balloon wars against Jason and Conrad and 'campouts' during the summer when crickets would serenade the night, candles flickering gently in hurricane-lamps.

A dark car drew up to the curb, and a petite brunette climbed out, staring at the DiLaurentis house, her face as pale and shocked as Spencer's: glancing around, Aria saw Spencer, shocked and pale, standing with Freya, whose arm was tucked around her best-friend's waist, her own face glittering with a few tears, her eyes wide and horrified; Freya's Mercedes stood parked, her little-brother playing with the stereo as he waited. Aria hurried over to Freya and Spencer as Freya dashed her tears away and Spencer's face seemed to unfreeze. Letting out a stunned breath, Aria shivered as she said, "I heard the cops took Hanna to the police-station today."

Spencer glanced quickly at Aria. "Wait—you don't think she'd ever talk about the—"

"The Jenna thing?" Hanna said, dropping into place beside her friends, glancing from Aria to Spencer before glancing at Freya. She watched the crowd outside the DiLaurentis house, shocked and cold. "We made a promise."

"I can't believe this," Freya whispered, watching with horror as the coroner's van drove off. "This whole time—" She broke off, her throat closing up. Spencer rubbed her back comfortingly, but Freya wasn't heartbroken for herself. How was Mrs DiLaurentis going to react to this news? Alison's father? How was _Jason_ going to feel when he heard that the entire time he and his family had been searching and pleading for answers…they had been buried in the gazebo their family had finished only a fortnight after Alison had disappeared? She had been there this whole time. Hidden.

_Dead_.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.**: HOLY SHIT! I just watched the SEASON FINALE!

Disappointed: No Jason. Other than that, AMAZING! That part when they're in the car, with the deer? I watched it in full light and I jumped out of my skin.

Poor Mona.

Taunting glimpse of a red sweater is supposed to hold us over till June?

On a side note: I JUST SAW _THE HUNGER GAMES_. Oh my GOD. It was a 12A, and I'm twenty-one, but I jumped out of my skin! And I _wept_. RUE! And I lusted after Gale and want to see him get nekid.

* * *

><p><strong>Be Silent and Breathe…<strong>

_03_

* * *

><p>"When I got that text, I thought it might be…" Freya said, her cheeks warming as she laid another freshly-ironed polo-dress on the sofa; Spencer sat curled up under three blankets, holding a cup of hot-chocolate and gazing into nothingness, still pale. "I thought it might have been Ali…or Kyle."<p>

"Kyle?" Spencer stared at her, blinking tears from her eyes without seeming to notice them trickle down her wan cheeks. "Is he still hassling you?" Freya sighed heavily.

"He's stopped calling, at least," she said. "But if they sent _you_ an email signed '_A_', I think it's pretty safe to say it wasn't Kyle."

"Whoever sent that email _knew _things," Spencer croaked hoarsely. "Knew things only Ali knew."

"Whoever it is knows more than Ali ever did," Freya said softly, glancing at Spencer, who frowned gently at her.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"I mean…" Freya exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she pulled one of Kenzi's t-shirts inside-out so she could iron it without ruining the transfer. "I mean they knew about…_October_." Spencer's eyes widened as she leaned forward, staring. "Ali never knew anything about that, so unless she was killed—" Freya broke off, ironing Kenzi's t-shirt precisely, folding it neatly. "Unless she wasn't killed _right away_…there's no way she could've known that."

"Whoever it was knew I hooked up with Ian last summer," Spencer shivered. She exhaled shakily. "And if it wasn't Ali…" Freya let out a shaky sigh, glancing at her best-friend.

"Don't your parents want you home?" she asked quietly, feeling something slip in her chest. A stab of longing.

"Dad went to pick Mom up from the airport," Spencer said croakily, wiping her cheeks. She turned glistening eyes onto Freya, working diligently on the three-foot-high pile of ironing. She had to do something or her brain was going to start steaming. "And I don't feel like going home to be consoled by _Melissa_. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm good," Freya said tearfully, her eyes filling with tears so she couldn't see. She bit back a sob and the tears spilled over. Hands still shaking, she put the next tiny little dress on a hanger. "I just…have to keep moving, and everything will be…" She shook her head, and ironed one of Kelly's blouses. Ironing the frills on the hem of one of Helen's little dresses, she glanced up at Spencer, who was lost in thought.

"Spence?"

"Yeah."

"Remember…how…you told the cops that you thought you'd heard Ali scream, that night?" Freya asked, and Spencer nodded slowly. Freya fumbled with Kelly's little blue floral rah-rah skirt. "D'you…d'you think it could've…been her?"

"Now that we know what happened to her…" Spencer said hoarsely. "It could've been…"

"What time did you wake up and notice she was gone?" Freya asked. Spencer exhaled heavily, shaking her head as her eyes slid closed. She rubbed her face with one hand.

"I… Three o'clock, maybe?" she said heavily. Freya nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"Toby called me at one a.m.," Freya said softly, now fiddling with the buttons of one of Kenzi's shirts so she could iron out the sleeves. "That's when we met up outside your barn… I watched her get into that car, and we just…left…"

"That's two hours we don't know anything about," Spencer said, exhaling softly, her eyes widening. "Two _hours_."

"Anything could've…_did_ happen," Freya said shakily. She shook her head. "Poor Alison… I know we were never crazy about each other, but…even she didn't deserve to…"

"I know," Spencer said softly, a moment after words failed Freya. She caught Freya's eye, giving her a weak, watery smile. Her eyes slid past Freya, to the flat-screen television perched on the low rosewood dresser. "Look." Freya glanced around, and reached for the remote to turn the volume up; the news had come on:

"_Current owners of the residence were in the process of demolishing the structure to make room for a renovation project_," the anchorwoman said, "_when workers made the gruesome discovery. The parents of the deceased were unavailable for comment, but a family spokesperson has confirmed the gazebo was under construction the summer fifteen-year-old Alison DiLaurentis disappeared. Tonight, the family is asking for privacy as they come to terms with the sad ending to a year-long mystery, and local authorities are coming to terms with the fact a killer is at large in Rosewood_." As the camera returned to the anchor in the studio, Freya turned the volume down, and glanced at Spencer, whose eyes were glassy as she turned her gaze onto Freya.

"Family spokesperson?" she said hoarsely. "Was that Jason, d'you think?" Freya shook her head.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I haven't heard from him yet…and I don't expect to. Not tonight." Spencer closed her eyes, letting out a sigh, her expression one of misery.

"At least it's over now," she half-whispered. "No more wondering."

"No more wondering whether she's alive or not," Freya said, glancing at Spencer as she put one of Kenzi's shirts on a hanger. "Now…they have to wonder what happened to her. And _why_." Spencer licked her lips, her expression thoughtful as she gazed at the rug.

"D'you think that's worse?" she whispered. Freya paused. Could anything be worse than wondering whether one's child was alive or dead? Discovering what had happened to their daughter, how she had been _killed_, dumped in a construction-project like trash…

"I can't imagine any reason is enough to explain away killing a fifteen-year-old girl," Freya said softly. "Definitely not to her parents."

"They'll find out though, right?" Spencer said sadly, glancing at Freya. "They'll find out what happened to Ali?" Freya shrugged delicately, her shoulders strangely heavy.

"The cops have been messing Jason's family around for the last year," she said softly, ironing one of her own tops. "False leads, tracking down blonde girls in other cities to see if they're her…people kept sending them letters filled with conspiracy-theories and bogus photos… In a year, they couldn't figure out that Ali was dead… On _CSI_ don't they say the longer since a murder, the less evidence they'll turn up?"

"Yeah," Spencer said softly. She caught Freya's eye. "Ali was _murdered_." Her face fell, and Freya set the iron back on its dock, slipping around the ironing-board, to curl up on the free space on the sofa next to Spencer. She felt _cold_, all of her felt frozen, and she sat shivering, curled up with Spencer as her best-friend moved one of the blankets over Freya's bare legs and rested her head against Freya's shoulder.

Freya, better than anyone else, knew how to deal with loss. Since the age of thirteen, her life had pretty much been one tragedy after the next; she had learned to work past them, to get out of bed in the mornings, and continue to put one foot in front of the other. When Alison had gone missing, she had done the same, focusing on what she had to do, rather than what might or could have happened. But the other girls…for them, struggling through loss was not a normal state of being. It wasn't for Jason, either, though they had both lost Conrad: so when Ali had gone missing, Freya had turned her energies into supporting Jason, as much as she had been taking care of her mother, and her dad.

But Freya had never known anyone who was _murdered_.

Saying it out loud had hit it home: Alison DiLaurentis had been _murdered_, just _hours _after Freya and Toby had said goodbye to her that night outside Spencer's barn. Ali had walked one way; Toby and Freya had walked the other. That was the last time Freya had seen her—then she'd got a call on her cell from Spencer asking whether she'd seen Ali…

* * *

><p>Spencer had slept the night, curled up close and warm beside Freya, sharing the bed they had cuddled up in since they were three years old: Spencer hadn't wanted to go home, and neither had wished to sleep alone. They both agreed they felt sick to their stomachs every time they thought of what had happened to Ali, and that had stopped them sleeping peacefully; every time her mind turned to Ali, Freya felt sick, and her eyes had burned intermittently through the night, though she hadn't let herself cry properly, and had slept with her phone cradled in her hand, just in case Jason called.<p>

When her stereo went off with her alarm-playlist, Freya started, peering around blearily, lying on her stomach with her hair tumbling over her eyes, an arm heavy over her back, someone snoring gently, legs tangled with hers. She peeked at the clock on her bedside-cabinet, sighing heavily, and fought to wake herself up. _Have to get up_…

"Spence…" she murmured, rolling laboriously onto her back; Spencer squirmed luxuriously and curled up deeper under the feather duvet. Pushing herself up on one forearm, Freya reached out to shake Spencer's shoulder. "_Spence_…"

"What?" Spencer sighed.

"Time to get up," she yawned widely, pushing herself onto her knees, holding her head as vertigo threatened to set in. Spencer pouted, adjusting her top, and peeked around.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"A quarter to six," Freya yawned.

"_What_?" Freya slid out of bed, deciding to let sleeping Spencers lie, and trailed off to grab the baby; he was awake, and smiling, when she shuffled, half-awake, into the nursery. When Abel saw her, he smiled, recognising her face.

"Hey, little man," Freya sighed softly, lifting Abel out of the cot; she grabbed a change of clothing for him, walked over to the changing-table, and changed his diaper before dressing him: Spencer had helped with Kenzi and Kelly's homework last night while Freya had put Helen and Abel to bed early after their bath, and Abel now yawned luxuriously, his pacifier falling out while she did up the snaps of his little blue-striped bodysuit, gently pulling on a tiny pair of denim-coloured elastic pants: giving him back the pacifier, Freya lifted Abel against her waist and yawned as she made her way downstairs. She picked up the newspaper from the front lawn; let Magnus out the back-door and made up a small bowl for his breakfast; got the lunches out of the refrigerator ready for Kenzi, Kelly and Helen to pick up for themselves; and grabbed the box of Eggo waffles from the freezer, as well as the box of Pop Tarts from the cupboard. Feeding Abel with the bottle she had made up last night, she went around the house taking up the last of the laundry, having put on a pot of coffee for Spencer, and entered the kids' bedrooms to hang up their ironing and open their curtains to gently bring them into the land of the woken. When Abel had finished his bottle, she slipped him back in his cot, and spanked Spencer on the ass with a loud _slap_ as she re-entered her bedroom, setting a cup of coffee on the bedside-table close enough for Spencer to smell and taunt her, stripping off her sleep-shirt and "cheekie" panties, grabbing her towel.

"Get up!" she called, tugging her shower-cap on as the water blasted from her en-suite shower. Spencer dawdled into the bathroom with her coffee, looking for her toothbrush—she had kept a spare toothbrush and clothing here since fourth grade. Freya showered quickly, climbing out and taking the coffee Spencer handed her as she stripped out of her pyjamas, climbing into the shower herself after donning the spare shower-cap; Freya sipped the coffee, glad she had added hazelnut syrup and half-and-half, instead of giving it to Spencer like the tar she liked.

The girls were awake first; Freya grabbed Abel and set him in his ring on her bed while she dressed, did her makeup and put her hair up: Spencer showering, Helen came into Freya's room first, asking to have her hair put up in a bun; Kelly followed, asking Freya to do the complicated twist-and-braid bun she had done for her a few days ago; while Abel sucked away placidly on his pacifier, responding to the noises of her stereo's playlist, Freya pinned her hair up, got Helen's done and sent her off to get dressed and wake Kenzi while Spencer hurried out from the bathroom in a borrowed towel, looking for the change of her own clothing that Freya kept safe in the bottom-right drawer of her dresser, along with spare pyjamas, spare slippers, and an old robe, tendrils of dark hair curling damply down her back where they had evaded the elastic of Spencer's shower-cap.

"I'll be downstairs," Freya said, as she picked up Abel again, Kelly trailing off in her robe with her hair put up prettily with a clip of very pretty faux-hydrangeas attached. "Want some more coffee? Eggos? Pop Tarts?"

"Toast," Spencer yawned back. "D'you have that good bread you make?"

"Yeah, made some fresh two nights ago," Freya said. "Want anything on it? Jam, an egg?"

"Fried egg sounds good," Spencer smiled blearily, now the one sitting at Freya's antique Victorian rosewood dressing-table. Freya smiled, pausing to check her reflection in the full-length mirror by her door: boat-neck tee-dress from Victoria's Secret (one of many she had bought, some of her easiest outfits) in a navy-wave and copper-honeycomb print, with her father's watch on one wrist, a narrow gold band pushed halfway up her other arm, a tiny glint of gold at her throat, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with several casual twists either side of her head feeding into it. She stooped to collect a matching pair of strappy nude heeled-sandals from the pile of shoes in the hall—comprised of _her_ shoes, expensive and non-, and her siblings' shoes.

The state of the shoe-pile was a reflection of the state of their lives: if the pile was gone, Freya had had enough time to sort out the pairs and put them in individual closets. If she hadn't, like now, there was a growing pile of high-heels; Converses; sports cleats; sneakers; flip-flops; jelly-sandals; boots and an alarming number of flats, the sweetest of which were Kelly and Helen's _Joy Folie_ flats and peep-toe boots; the most expensive being Freya's expensive Louboutin collection, everything from studded black-leather heeled t-bar pumps, the chiffon peep-toes, black cage booties, gold 'Balota' _Louboutin_ sandals, the studded transparent heels, the feathered champagne and red 'Rosazissimo' heels and the blue-velvet pumps she adored so much; the black satin bow-and-feather Valentinos and her brown-leather _Tory Burch_ riding-boots and ancient red leather cowboy boots; with a collection of Converses that ranged from Helen's tiny purple Chucks to Kenzi's battered black high-tops, to Freya's pristine leopard-print ones. There was the odd pair of baby booties that belonged to Abel, several pairs of _Pointe_ slippers with trailing ribbons that belonged to Freya, and little elastic ones that belonged to Helen.

She kicked a set of flip-flops out of the way as she made her way to Kenzi's room, waking him up by dragging his comforter all the way off and depositing Abel briefly, coaching him to give his big-brother very sloppy kisses, something Freya took great pride in having taught him only a month ago. Now that he could sit up by himself, Abel's methods of kissing included free-falling into someone's face from a sitting-position, getting drool all over their faces: not the prettiest of wakeup calls, but it achieved the unachievable; getting Kenzi out of bed.

In the kitchen, she put Abel in his highchair with his bunny and his blanket, and he sat complacently while Freya got breakfast ready, making toast from the fresh bread she had baked, frying off some eggs so the yolk would still be deliciously runny; she poured another cup of coffee for Spencer, set Eggos and Pop Tarts in the toaster for Helen and Kelly, who had set the table, and took a plate of toast up to her mother with a glass of juice and her day's pills in a tiny Tupperware pot.

Her mother woke briefly enough to knock back the pills, take some juice, have a bite of toast, and turned back to her pillows without even looking at Freya.

Sucking her cheeks in, Freya held her tongue but sighed as she closed the bedroom-door on her mother, making her way downstairs and nearly tripping over the toys littering the staircase; Spencer was helping cut up Helen's syrup-drenched waffles when Freya entered the kitchen; Spencer was mainlining strong black coffee—the fragrant French-roast that Spencer brought over supplies of especially for mornings like this—and yawning as the stereo now pumped music into the kitchen to wake them up.

Pausing briefly to fasten the tiny twin buckles on her nude strappy sandals, Freya ate her fried-egg-on-toast, packed the kids' lunch-boxes into their bags, made sure they all had their homework, got Abel's bag ready for the day-care staff, and put a fresh load of laundry on, making sure the burners on the hob were completely turned off: Yesterday, in a sudden inspiration to feed herself, Freya's mother had left the hob on, a copper pan left on the stove over the open flame; the pan had been _glowing_ when Freya had returned home with Helen, Kelly and Abel, and it had taken overnight to cool off.

"Have you seen this?" Spencer asked, gazing at the paper.

"Yeah," Freya sighed, glancing at it as she set used plates in the dishwasher, tracing her fingertips over Abel's soft head, his fine hair so soft against her skin. He peered around, blinking large navy eyes.

"Did you hear from Jason at all?" Spencer asked, as she finished off her toast and climbed up from the table, putting her plate in the dishwasher and draining her glass of juice before adding it to the top rack.

"No," Freya sighed. She checked her Blackberry, remembering she needed her iPod from upstairs, and dashed off to get it; she grabbed everything she needed: all of her little notebooks; her pencil-case; her old-school camera and tiny perfume bottle for touch-ups; her makeup bag with today's choice of eyeliner and lipstick; adding her tiny gold horseshoe diamond ring to her finger before grabbing her keys; and her fat day-planner filled with invitations; notes; announcement fliers and team-schedules.

"Alright, everyone ready?" she called, her heels clicking on the rug-covered parquet as she strode into the kitchen. "Hands washed, I don't want syrup everywhere, Hel." Helen quickly washed her hands; Kenzi grabbed his freshly-laundered school P.E. kit, and Kelly latched on to her lunchbox before helping Helen on with a pair of her tiny, gorgeous _Joy Folie_ shoes, walking with her hand-in-hand out to the car after calling Magnus inside; he curled up in his spot in the corner of the kitchen, watching them with eyes that said 'Take me with you'. Spencer smiled as she took Abel's bag, Freya lifting the baby out of his high-chair, and she locked the house after them as Kenzi got Helen buckled into her booster-seat.

"Kenzi, you're in the back today; Spencer's up front until I drop her home," Freya said, and Kenzi would have made a bigger deal of being booted from his seat if it had been anyone but Spencer: buckling Abel in, Kenzi climbed into the back of the car, and Freya drove them over to the Hastings manor, alarmed that police cruisers and fire-trucks were _still_ parked outside the DiLaurentis house.

"See you in English," Spencer said, her smile strained as she left, to collect her field-hockey things and schoolbag; she had left the paper on the passenger seat, and when Kenzi clambered into what he viewed was his rightful place in the front-passenger seat, he started to read the article aloud to Freya, who had glimpsed Ali's face and the headline and first bold sentence, but hadn't had time to read further.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until lunch that what had happened started to sink in. All day, all anybody had been able to talk about was the discovery of Alison DiLaurentis' body. The freshman who now possessed what had once been Ali's locker found it difficult to navigate the shrine someone had created to commemorate Alison, and anybody who had known Ali—Freya; Spencer; Aria; Hanna; Emily—was subjected to <em>questions<em>.

For the first time in a year, when Freya had seen Mona at break she had been _speechless_, sitting with a subdued and preoccupied Hanna.

Ben had upset Emily with all of his questions and laughing with his friends; and Aria looked lost.

But at lunchtime? For the first time in a year, the girls had all gravitated to each other. Spencer had kept her laptop tucked in her bag; Hanna had stopped texting and had joined them from the popular juniors' table, using some magic gel to reduce and conceal the redness of Emily's eyes after crying for most of the morning; Aria had taken her seat next to Emily as if it was just another day in freshman-year; Freya sat with her cell-phone out on the table, just in case Jason called. She didn't want to call him and bug him, knowing from experience that anybody who had his cell-phone number was probably ringing his phone off the hook, to console and dig for details.

Everyone in the cafeteria who had known that Freya and the girls had once been best-friends with Alison DiLaurentis turned to stare at them, quiet, as the girls sat together with their lunches. Whispers made the cafeteria seem like it was filled with the threat of a summer storm, and a few teachers who ate in the cafeteria to watch over the hundreds of kids eating their lunches were seen discussing the newspaper articles with incredibly sombre expressions; Ali's discovery had taken up five pages.

When Emily started crying silently, her lip trembling, Aria gathered her in a half-hug, resting her cheek against Emily's arm, her eyes downcast; Freya watched her phone, asking Hanna whether she was okay.

Her phone rang, and Freya dived for it, snatching it up. Spencer glanced up with wide, questioning eyes as Freya let out a soft gasp, staring at the screen.

"Is it him?" she asked. Freya nodded jerkily, accepting the call.

"Jason?" For a heartbeat, there was no answer, and then, a croaky, heartbroken, "_Hey_" crackled over the line. Freya had to focus to hear it, and she plugged her ear with her finger as she clambered out of her chair; "_Can we meet_?"

"Where are you?" Freya asked curiously.

"_Out front_," Jason said softly.

"I'm coming," Freya said, glancing at the girls; gathering up her things, she made her way out of the packed, noisy cafeteria, into the main hall, and stalked through the front-doors, glancing around quickly for any sign of—Jason stood with hunched shoulders, his hand trembling as he tucked his phone in his pocket, standing on the lawn to the left of the school doors. Freya tossed her phone into her bag, and leapt down the steps, her chest aching like a blazing tear had ripped it in two at the sight of Jason. His _expression_.

Freya flew at him: he caught her, not even stepping back to keep his balance; he caught her, and when she squeezed him as tight as she could, he let out a dry sob and hugged her back twice as hard. He was trembling, as he held tight to her, his breaths coming in dry, choked pants, and Freya held him so tight, she thought she might be the only thing holding him together. Just as she had felt when he had held her in times past. However long Freya hugged him, she didn't know; what she did know was that when he released her, his eyes were hard, glassy, the same way they had been when he'd found her after Con's funeral.

This was the closest that Freya had ever seen Jason come to crying. That hardness, this desolation in his eyes, his cheeks hollow, those incredible cheekbones pronounced, his gorgeous lips leached of colour.

Releasing him gently, Freya cradled his handsome, handsome face in her trembling hands, feeling her eyes burning as her throat closed, and she couldn't even give him a watery smile: Instead, she rested her forehead against his, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone as she nuzzled his nose, and gave him the tiniest of kisses, just dusting her lips against his.

"Can we go somewhere?" Jason asked softly, his eyes brimming with tears that didn't fall. Freya nodded, and Jason reached up, momentarily letting his eyes slide closed as he pressed his hand over hers, then threaded his fingers through hers, leading her away from the school. Just _away_, no fixed direction or purpose; they wandered, and Jason's hand would alternately tighten and loosen around Freya's. They didn't talk; Freya knew from experience there was nothing she could say that could make Jason stop feeling what he was going through. But a hug, holding his hand? When she had lost her brother, and her dad, it had been Jason's arms she had flung herself into, hoping never to be let go; he had held her together when words hadn't registered.

"Let me buy you something sweet," Freya said softly, concerned at how pale Jason was; he nodded jerkily, eyes hard and faraway as she guided him to a weathered bench at the edge of the town square. He stumbled backwards, and Freya squeezed his hand, striding over to the Apple-Rose Grille, where their brunch and lunch takeaway menus boasted the best chocolate crème patissiere éclairs this side of the Atlantic. She bought two, bringing out the can of Diet Coke from her handbag as she walked back over to Jason, whose legs were jigging, his elbows on his knees as he stared unseeingly at the ground. Snapping the soda open, she passed it to Jason, who took it, his hand shaking as he took several deep draws, handing the can to her as she offered him the little pastry box.

"You got my favourite," he said softly, taking one of the gourmet chocolate éclairs. Freya smiled weakly.

"Figured you hadn't had one in a while," she said softly. Jason sniffed softly, and two crystal tears fell as he blinked.

"You brought me one when you came to see me in January," he said, clearing his throat softly, his lips trembling when he glanced at her.

The lawns had been blanketed with snow, but hail mixed with snow and sheets of icy rain pelted the gritted streets of New Haven, the sky a deep, angry grey and crackling with lightning; the worst storm of the year was in full strength, and a tall, very slender figure stood bare-legged in the mess, bearing a soaked bakery box, her trench-coat soaked through, her hair drenched, shuddering on the doorstep: Jason answered the buzz, admitting her into the building when she chattered out her request to come in, and, shuddering, Freya hurried inside, eyes bleary from tears and the icy sleet melting in her already drenched hair, trickling down her neck; she left watery footprints in the hall, hurrying breathlessly up to Jason's floor, not seeing because tears burned in her eyes; he was several paces outside his door when she reached his landing, and when Freya saw him, the dam that shock had banked the last few hours ruptured and broke completely.

Jason caught her—and the box she nearly let fall from her hand, the one she had carried on the train from Rosewood to New Haven, just for him, because buying it had kept her mind off… He half-carried her into his apartment, which was so blisteringly warm she felt suddenly ill: as she sobbed, he murmured words she never remembered, stripping off the soaked trench, her dress, the underwear soaked through, and deposited her in a hot shower to warm her, dressing her in a pair of his jeans, fluffy socks and a worn Yale sweatshirt that bagged on her.

Sober now, he made her a cup of tea instead of offering her a stiff drink of single-malt, and sat with her curled up in his lap on the sofa, buried under blankets with her head on his shoulder, crying silently now, pressing tiny kisses to her temple, sifting his fingers through her drying hair, the only person who had ever seen her wear it down. She remembered that day, that hug; he had held her in his arms, so strong, his warmth surrounding her, that _Jason_ smell enveloping her senses like the best kind of drug, and when she had stopped shaking, he had made her tremble in a different way. Many times. Something about her wearing his clothes had lit that unquenchable fire in his hazel-grey eyes, the one that sent them writhing in each other's arms, panting, hot kisses exchanged with scoring fingernails across slick skin, toned thighs locked tight around slender, strong hips, hands and lips seeking.

That had been before the moment of truth, when Freya had been so upset by everything that her secrets had just come pouring out. She still didn't know if he forgave her for October, but he was here, now, needing her help to get through this. To struggle through something very few kids their age had to experience, and Freya envied those who didn't know what it felt like to lose a sibling.

She reached out to cup Jason's cheek in her hand; he leaned into it, eyes sliding closed, for a moment, before Freya rubbed her thumb against his cheekbone, drawing his face to hers, and Jason moaned softly as she pressed her lips to his; his were warm, yielding, addictive. She sighed softly, nuzzling his nose once before leaning back. Tracing her finger down his cheek, she bit her lip.

"Were you at home?" she asked quietly. Jason scoffed softly.

"My parents' new place," he said hoarsely. He shook his head, his eyes bright as he gazed around; he glanced at her face, his gaze turning intent, seemingly rememorizing her features, locking eyes on hers. As he sighed softly and fidgeted on the bench, he took a bite of his éclair, taking her hand with his free one, and they sat like that for a moment, Freya with her ankles crossed beneath the bench, leaning her cheek against his shoulder.

"How did your mother take it?" she asked, chancing a glance up. A tear was coursing its way idly down Jason's smooth, high cheekbone, and he dashed it away as he finished the last of his éclair, licking his fingertips.

"When we got the call…they said they'd found her," Jason said throatily, his eyes burning-bright, the delicate silver striations glowing in the brilliant sunshine. "_Found_ her… As if she was still…" He glanced at Freya. "You should have seen the _hope_ in my mother's face." Freya squeezed his hand comfortingly as his eyes slid closed, tears spiking his eyelashes. He pushed the tears away, sighing heavily.

"At least this part is over," she said gently. "The waiting." Jason nodded, sniffing softly, and he moved his arm to invite her to curl up closer to him; she did, sliding her arms around his torso, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"D'you know what the worst part is?" he asked croakily, and Freya glanced up, searching his face. He gazed back at her, his lower-lip trembling. Freya hated to see him upset; she reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand.

"Tell me," she whispered gently. He gave her a weak, ironic smile.

"We watched the crew finish building that gazebo," he said softly, his words choked with emotion, his eyes brimming. Freya exhaled in a pained rush, her eyes clamping shut. She rested her forehead against his. "Just let them finish the job while we were out looking for her. She was there this whole time; someone just dumped—" He broke off, and Freya squeezed his torso. He hugged back tightly, letting out a shaky sigh.

"When did your parents get into town?" she asked quietly.

"Few hours after we got the news," Jason said softly. She rubbed his back comfortingly. "We, uh…we have to wait…for the autopsy—" He broke off, pinching his eyes and pushing away tears. "Have to wait, before we can…have the service." He exhaled slowly, seeming to calm himself down. Freya watched him, realising.

"You're organising it?" she said softly. Jason nodded.

"Mom can't…" He glanced at Freya, his gaze so warm and yet so cutting; when he looked at her, everything was stripped bare to his gaze. Just as he was hers. She knew he meant to say his mother couldn't bring herself to arrange her little girl's funeral. If anyone knew about emotionally brutalised mothers dealing with lost children, it was Freya: she had been too young to organise anything for Conrad, and even if she had been given the responsibility, she wouldn't have been able to bring herself to do it.

"I'll help," she said softly, glancing up at Jason; he glanced at her, and gave her a watery smile.

"You don't have to—"

"You helped me," Freya said gently, with enough bite to make Jason smile tremulously. She flicked her gaze over his eyes. "Remember? You told me there was nothing too small for me to ask, and you'd do it. Even just picking up the phone at four a.m., even during your midterms…just so I could hear your voice." Jason sniffed softly and gave her one of his rare sweet smiles.

"You do too much already," he said softly, not breaking eye-contact. Freya gazed at him, wondering what he meant by that.

"I mean it," she said softly. "Anything." Jason nodded, stroking his thumb against the back of her hand as he gazed around the park, Main Street…

"There is one thing," he said, glancing at her. "Can you…ask the rest of the Power Puff girls if they'll sit up front?" He caught her eye, and Freya gave him a small smile; she'd always chided him for calling her and the other girls that. _Power Puff_…

"Of course," Freya smiled sadly. Her smile brightened a little. "Even Aria will be there."

"Aria?"

"The little one," Freya said, giving him a soft smile.

"With the pink hair?" Jason asked, and Freya nodded. Jason frowned for a moment. "I thought you said her family moved."

"To Iceland," Freya nodded. "They got back just a few days ago." Jason nodded absently.

"Are you girls…?" Jason shot her a glance. "I mean, are you all still not talking?"

"It's strange…today was the first time in a year we've all sat together," Freya said softly, shaking her head as she gazed at the shops opposite. "Somehow, last night, we all… Emily was walking home from swim-practice; Aria was driving home; I was going to pick up Spence; Hanna had just gotten home with her mom… We were all there when they… I mean, we all watched…" She sighed shakily, her eyes burning. Alison had never been her closest friend…they had been too different, but that last night, something had changed with Ali. She still didn't understand what it was that had made her think something was different, just that Ali had been…without a mask, that was the best way to describe it.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Jason said softly, his grey eyes earnest as much as they were drenched in pain.

"I'm sorry you have to go through all of this at all," Freya whispered, and Jason gave her a tremulous smile, before she leaned in to hug his torso; he hugged her back, resting his chin on her head.

"Like you said," he murmured, "this part's over."

Freya sighed. "What comes next?"

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Note from the Author**

_Dear Loyal Readers_,

Due to the actions of 'Megan H' on _Quotev_, who has stolen my story 'Be Silent and Breathe' and posted it on her account as her own work, I have decided to delete the chapters she hasn't yet managed to steal, and let you all know why you can't enjoy the story anymore.

I will be rewriting 'Be Silent and Breathe'; I'm altering Freya's personality a little, her family situation and her relationships with the other people in Rosewood. And I can't decide whether I want to keep 'A' going on after Mona. For 'real-life' it just seems way too much.

I like the theory Alison has an eviler twin, but I don't like Red Coat and this new Shana girl and Mrs Marin! Poor Ashley. I think she's my favourite of the adults, followed closely by Ella.

And are they bringing Wesley back?

Anyway, I'll update this story when I've put up the first chapter of the new, revised 'Be Silent and Breathe' to redirect you, but until then, I can only apologise and place the blame on Megan H's shoulders.

Thank you for reading,

Mellowenglishgal

(28 July, 2013)


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